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junekissed · 2 years

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packages, boxes and bags

day eight of junkissed's svt season's greetings event

member — boyfriend!seokmin x reader genre — the sweetest and purest fluff word count — 3.1k synopsis — you’re having trouble finding the perfect gift for your boyfriend on your first christmas together. maybe his friends can help. warnings — a little cursing, reader is called seokmin's girlfriend, pet names (baby, honey), they are so damn cute it hurts, when can i have my own seokmin god please i'm begging notes — lowercase intended. i apologize this is late but i was busy the past couple days and i also didn't have much inspo for this. so imagine my surprise when today i sit down at my laptop and boom three thousand words just. appear. but i am so happy with how this turned out and i hope you will be too. i must warn you all this is disgustingly sweet and precious and i definitely screamed into my pillow more than once while writing this. i hope you enjoy :) p.s. i promise this isn't an ad for kay jewelers— blame @duhnova for that

one reblog = one (almost) engagement ring

you shut your laptop closed and groan, putting your head in your hands. this was never going to work.

you’ve spent the better part of your day off on websites like amazon, macy’s, even walmart, trying to find the perfect gift for seokmin.

despite being together almost seven months now, it’s the first time you’ll be spending christmas together. and… you have absolutely no idea what to get him.

first you thought about getting him some little gadget for his computer at work, maybe a new keyboard or a cute new mouse pad. but then you remembered how he told you in passing the other day how he couldn’t stand how his job had him hunched over his computer all day, and he was thinking about looking for a new one where he wouldn’t have to be on it so much.

then you thought you might get him a nice framed picture of the two of you, something small to keep in his apartment for when you’re not there. but when you came over last weekend, the first thing he did was show you the digital photo frame he found in his closet that his mom got him for his birthday that he’d forgotten about. he was stoked to “finally be able to put it to good use” and had programmed it with dozens of pictures of the two of you.

you’d tried google. you’d looked at every gift-giving website under the sun. you’d even asked your best friend what she was getting for her boyfriend for christmas to see if it might spark an idea.

but everything you come across is either something he already has, something he doesn’t need, or something he could easily get on his own.

so… you were stuck. thoroughly and completely stuck.

meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, seokmin is currently on the other side of town, running through the mall in a panic, trying to figure out what to get you.

he knows he shouldn’t have waited until three days before christmas to get his holiday shopping done, but he’s been busy– there’s a huge promotion up at his job, and he’s doing everything he can to get it. not only would it mean less sitting at his desk all day and more moving around, it would also mean a big raise, so you can finally move in together like you both have been wanting to. now that would be a perfect christmas present if he gets the position, but he won’t find out if he has or not until the new year, so that rules that out.

it’s your first christmas together, so he really wants to go all out. winter is his favorite season, and now he gets to spend it with his favorite person, so why wouldn’t he make it something extravagant? except… he can’t find anything to get you.

so here he is at the mall downtown, ducking into every store and searching for something, anything that might give him an idea of a gift you might like.

he doesn’t wanna buy you clothes, because that’s lame, and also because he doesn’t wanna get something that’s not guaranteed you’ll like. what if you think the fabric is too itchy, or you don’t like the pattern? returning or even exchanging his gift would mean a big failure.

he doesn’t wanna buy you the trinkets he found at that one gift shop, because even though they are cute, they’re not special enough to get for you. these are the type of things he’d pick up for you on his way home from work as an everyday treat, or at the very most, a stocking stuffer; you deserve more than some cheap little thing he found on a whim.

he thought about getting you a new purse, because you said you’ve been needing one since the strap on your current one broke, but he’s pretty sure you already bought yourself one when your boss gave you an amazon gift card as a thank-you for all the overtime you’ve been doing lately.

it seems like everything he thinks of to get you is a dumb idea. so now he’s stuck. thoroughly and completely stuck.

you sigh, pulling out your phone and scrolling through your gallery, praying that one of the photos is hiding some kind of sign that’ll tell you exactly what to buy him. but as expected, there’s no magic word or wish list or qr code that leads to the perfect gift.

you’re just about to give up and call him and just ask him what he wants, when an idea hits you. calling him would be admitting to him you can’t think of something special to give him, but calling his friends… now that, that might get you somewhere. they’ve known him for way longer than you have, they must have some idea of things he likes or might want.

you quickly dial the number of his friend minghao. you’ve only met him a few times at some get-togethers, but he seems like the most responsible out of his group, and the most likely to give you a helpful answer.

he picks up on the first ring, but the voice that answers… isn’t minghao?

“hello seokmin’s girlfriend! this is minghao’s phone, how can i help you!”

“junhui, i told you to stop touching my phone!” you hear a voice in the background that you guess is minghao.

“fi-ine,” the first voice—junhui?—grumbles, and you hear a shuffling noise as you assume the phone is being passed back to its owner.

minghao sighs. “hi. sorry about him. what’s up?”

you try not to laugh at the phone mix-up. “just, uh, have a question for you.”

“mhm?” he prods.

“has… seok mentioned anything he wants for christmas? or, like, is there anything you know he needs?” you ask, hoping it sounds nonchalant.

he hums. “mm, not really. are you trying to come up with a christmas gift for him?”

you whine. “yeah. but i’ve tried everything, i can’t think of a single good thing to give him.”

minghao pauses. “he’s really sentimental, but you probably already figured that out by now. the best i can suggest is something homemade, or something related to some kind of memory you have together. he’d like that.”

you freeze. “i… i think i’ve got an idea,” you say jumping up from your chair. “you’re the best, minghao, i owe you big time for this.”

“don’t worry about it. merry christmas.”

you hang up the phone and open your laptop again. this just might work.

you hadn’t planned on spending this much on seokmin’s present, but why not go all out? sure, you’ll have to cut back on your morning coffee for a couple weeks, but it’ll be worth it to see the look on his face on christmas morning.

at the same time, across town seokmin’s just walking out of the jewelry store, a shiny velvet box tucked into his jacket pocket. it’s a lot more than he wanted to pay for it, but it’s better than showing up empty-handed. besides, if that promotion comes through like he hopes, he’ll pay it off in no time. it might have cost a small fortune, but he just knows it’ll look so pretty on you. he can’t wait to see you wear it.

christmas eve finally rolls around and you’re standing outside the door to seokmin’s apartment, your arms full of bags for the weekend you’re spending with him.

his entire face lights up the second he opens the door, and he squeezes you in a tight hug before giving you a soft kiss. “hi baby,” he says, almost shyly. “merry christmas.”

he grabs the bags from you to carry them inside, and you give him another kiss. “merry christmas.”

he takes your things back to his room to set them down, then comes back out into the living room, wrapping his arms around you again. “i’m so glad you get to be here,” he says quietly.

“mm. me too.”

the room is quiet, besides the faint honking of cars outside. you snuggle up on the couch together, picking out a movie to watch, the dim lights casting a soft glow around the apartment.

“do you wanna open your present now?” he asks when the screen turns black and the credits slowly roll past.

“seok, you have to wait until christmas! we can’t open all our presents tonight!” you giggle, and he pouts.

“please?” he says, looking up at you with those big, pleading eyes you adore so much.

“fine,” you concede. “but only one! or else we won’t have anything to open in the morning.”

he grins and gets down on the floor beside the couch, crawling over to the tree to grab a small wrapped box nestled into the bottom branches. he comes back over and sits at the base of the couch, putting one knee up as he hands you the box.

he grins up at you as you tear open the wrapping paper, revealing the soft velvet jewelry box.

you look down at him, and he nods eagerly, motioning for you to open it. you hesitate. it definitely looks expensive, way more than you would’ve wanted him to spend on you. but you did pay almost $300 renting the place for his gift, so you write it off as being even.

you delicately pry the box open with your fingernail, revealing a breathtaking ring absolutely covered in diamonds and intricate silver gilding. it gleams even in the low light, sitting in its little velvet box, staring up at you.

you gasp, throwing your hand over your mouth. “seokmin, what the fuck is this!?”

his smile instantly drops, the color draining from his cheeks. “do you not like it? i can probably still return it, i have the receipt–”

“no!” you shout, and he jumps, eyes wide. “no,” you repeat, calmer this time. “no, i love it. it’s gorgeous. i just– i thought we were doing… small presents first?” you stutter, still in shock at the beautiful piece of jewelry in your shaking hands.

he blushes. “i… wanted you to wear it now,” he murmurs.

you study him, and suddenly you realize he’s still down on the carpet on one knee. and everything finally clicks.

you scream as you jump up from the couch. “seokmin, you’re not proposing, are you?” you gasp.

“no?” he stammers, confused why you’d think he is, before realizing himself that he looks… well, he definitely looks like he’s proposing.

he hurriedly puts his knee down, sitting flat on the carpet. “i’m not! i’m not. this is just a really nice ring, i swear,” he rushes to explain. “at least, not yet,” he mumbles under his breath, but you don’t hear him. you’re still focused on the fact that there’s more diamonds in this ring than you can count on one hand.

you’re still standing in front of him, mouth hanging open, and he’s starting to get worried because you haven’t said a word in a few minutes. “do you want me to propose?” he asks hesitantly. because, screw it, he’s already got the nice ring; if you’re ready, then he’s ready, might as well—

“no! i mean, yes, i do, i really do, but not right now, i…” you trail off, not sure how to continue.

the room is silent, both of you staring at each other. after a minute he stands up, taking his seat back on the couch. “oh no,” he says, finally breaking the silence with a groan. “i ruined this, didn’t i?”

“no,” you sigh, having recovered enough from the shock to sit next to him again. “no, of course not. i’m just… surprised. i wasn’t expecting this. it must’ve cost a fortune.”

“it’s rude to ask someone the price of a gift, you know,” he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“trust me, i’m not asking,” you laugh. “i don’t even wanna know.”

“can… can i put it on you?” he asks, his voice getting soft again.

you look at him, and then at the glittering diamond ring in his hand, and you can’t not accept it. you nod, letting out a quiet “mhm” in agreement.

your eyes start to water as he slides it onto your finger, and he looks up worriedly when you sniffle. “it’s so pretty, oh my god,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

“please don’t cry,” he says softly, and he looks so upset that you have to reassure him you’re not mad and you just really, really like your gift.

you admire how it looks on your finger for a second before you scoot closer to him and wrap your arms around him.

“i love it, baby,” you murmur. “you really didn’t have to do this.”

he hums. “but i wanted to. i wanted to show you how much i love you.”

tears well up in your eyes again, and you bury your face in his neck to hide them. “you already show me. every single day.”

he sighs, a happy sigh, relaxing into your arms. “i’m glad you like it.”

you stay like that for a while, gently rocking back and forth on the couch, peacefully enjoying everything. the scent of his cologne wafts around you, a comforting, familiar smell, and the colorful lights of the christmas tree shine softly in the background. you wouldn’t want to spend christmas anywhere else.

you pull away a little, breaking the silence with a short laugh. “mine’s gonna look so stupid compared to yours,” you pout as you snuggle into his side, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“are you gonna make me wait until tomorrow to open it?” he asks, rubbing his hand up and down your arm.

“no,” you sigh. “it’s probably after midnight by now, anyway.” you lift yourself out of his arms, going back into his room to get his present from one of your bags.

it’s a lightweight little box, and you hand it down to him. the gift itself isn’t big in size, but you know he likes taking the wrapping off, so you put it in a box and wrapped it for him.

he waits for you to come sit beside him again, and he opens it, carefully tearing the red and green paper with a grin on his face.

he opens the box, revealing a small piece of paper. he looks back at you. “baby? what’s this?”

your cheeks heat up as you begin to explain, suddenly feeling shy about your gift. “well, i… i rented out the movie theater we went to on our first date, and i thought it would be fun to, just… spend the day there, i don’t know.” you trail off, looking down at your hands, until seokmin takes them in his own.

when you look back up at him, his smile is so wide, it almost looks like it hurts. “i love it,” he beams, his voice breaking a little. “that’s so thoughtful, honey. i really love it.”

he leans forward to squeeze you in a hug, and you can’t help but smile, too.

“this is the best christmas ever,” he sighs into your neck, holding you tightly against him. “love you so much.”

he sits back, pulling you onto his lap facing him. “do you know where i got the ring from?” he asks suddenly, locking his hands behind your lower back.

you look at him. “um, kay? it says it on the box.”

he grins. “and?”

you frown in confusion. “and… what?”

the tips of his ears turn pink. “y’know, their slogan? ‘every kiss begins with kay’? from the commercials?”

you blink at him.

he groans, rolling his head back. “can i just kiss you now, please?”

you giggle, throwing your arms around his neck and rubbing your nose against his. “fine.”

and just as he’s about to, his pocket vibrates, and he pulls out his phone.

“my… boss?” he says, confused, showing you the screen.

you whine, resting your chin on his shoulder. “what does he want that can’t wait? it’s one in the morning on christmas eve– well, technically christmas morning, now.”

he looks at you with pleading eyes, and you sigh. “you can answer it. quickly, though, please?”

he presses a kiss to your cheek in thanks before sliding the button to accept the call, holding the phone up to his other ear. “hello?”

you can’t hear what’s being said on the other line, so you close your eyes, worn out from the night’s big surprises. you have a lot to do tomorrow—today—and you’ll need sleep if you want to spend the whole day with him like you want to.

seokmin sits up suddenly, startling you. you lean back, looking at him, wordlessly asking if something’s wrong. but he’s beaming, his smile so bright you’d think he’d just been told he won the lottery, and you crease your eyebrows in confusion.

he stays on the phone for another minute, listening intently. “thank you so much. merry christmas,” he says finally, then hangs up, tossing his phone to the other end of the couch.

“what? what is it?” you ask, still concerned despite his giddy expression.

he settles back, his hands sliding to your waist and holding you up on his lap. “i just got some news,” he says, and you know he’s being vague on purpose to draw out the suspense.

you pout. “well, are you gonna tell me, or not!”

he giggles, unable to hold it back any longer. “i got the promotion!” he yells.

your mouth falls open. “what promotion?” you ask, tentative.

“i didn’t wanna say anything unless i was sure, but there’s been a position available at the company, and they wanted to hire someone from within,” he says excitedly. “it wasn’t guaranteed that i’d get it, but i did! i got the promotion!”

“aw, seok! i’m so proud of you, baby,” you smile, leaning down to kiss him.

he pulls away after a second, and you look at him expectantly. “i have more news,” he says with a grin.

“and?”

“and… it comes with a big raise, so we’ll finally be able to afford a place together,” he beams, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

you bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling, and feel your eyes well up with tears, spilling down your cheeks.

he calls your name softly, and you look up at him. “are you… what do you think?” he asks, his big eyes searching your watery ones.

“i– i’m just so happy,” you stammer, leaning down to hug him again. “i love you so much. this is more than i could’ve ever asked for.” you bury your face in his neck, letting your tears of joy fall onto his sweater.

“merry christmas, honey.”

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andreafmn · 11 months

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Kinktober ⛓️ Day 12

Word Count: 2.4K Paring: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Prompt @kinktober2023: Costumes WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI), oral (female receving), dom/sub subtext, p-in-v sex

Summary: Spencer's love for Halloween knows no bounds. He plans his costume weeks in advance, he hosts parties at his apartment, and decorates everything, even his desk at work. (Y/N), on the other hand, couldn't care less. But for Spencer, she'd do anything. Even if he goes incommunicado during a case.

A/N: I'm trying my best to get back on track, but life... this past weekend really killed all my writing inspo. Food poisoning is no joke.

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All Hallows Eve was a day that Spencer Reid enjoyed to no end. A day when anyone could be whatever they wanted, hiding behind masks and costumes. There was a thrill to seeing people let out a side they normally would keep hidden. Between the spooky decorations, the scary movies, and all the terrifying marketing surrounding the holiday, Spencer couldn’t think what the best part was.

Unfortunately for the young doctor, no one in his close circle shared his love for Halloween. Not even his girlfriend, (Y/N). Having grown up in a very religious family, she missed out on all the fun of being a child during the holiday and had found it too much work for one day in her adult years. Meeting Spencer had only made her excited about movies and candy, but her enjoyment never reached Reid level.

After two years of relationship, though, (Y/N) thought it was time to put in a little effort for her boyfriend’s favorite holiday. While he was away on a case, she decked out their apartment with cobwebs, skeletons, and anything else she could find. She changed lights to colored lightbulbs, changed beddings and decor pillows, and even went as far as to buy a costume. It wasn’t clever or scary, but she had to admit, it made her look unbelievably good.

It had been a week since she had decorated the apartment, and Spencer still wasn’t back. And with Halloween day approaching, she was growing discouraged at all her work. So much invested for no one to enjoy it, she thought.

At least she had somewhere to wear her costume to. Her coworkers had invited her out to a bar on the eve of Halloween where they would give out a round of free drinks to anyone who came in costume, and maybe she had never gotten the chance to go trick or treating, but she didn’t mind free drinks. Maybe Spencer wasn’t home yet, but there was no reason she couldn’t have some fun.

She had slipped on her green vine short dress, accompanied by a red wig and knee-high boots, and her Poison Ivy costume was complete. With her friends, she danced and drank, ate and sang, pushing her worries and concerns to the deepest corners of her mind. If Spencer didn’t feel the need to call, she didn’t feel the need to leave another single voicemail. (Y/N) would have fun and forget that it had been three days since her boyfriend had felt the need to check in.

Hours passed, and finally, she felt the urge to go home. She was already sobering up, and the loud music and chattering were getting to her. Her costume gripped at her sweat-covered body, and her wig made her scalp itch. It all made her wonder how people could endure being dressed that way for more than a night.

With sleep heavy in her bones, (Y/N) turned the key to her apartment’s door. Her cold and lonely bed was calling for her, and she would answer.

“Spence,” she gasped as she noticed the figure standing in the middle of the dimly lit living room. “You’re back.”

“I am,” he chuckled softly. “And I owe you an apology. I didn’t have cell reception those last couple of days, and I didn’t get a chance to send an email, baby. I know it’s no excuse, but I did try to call you as soon as we landed, but you weren’t answering.”

“My phone died. I was out,” she said matter-of-factly. “Some friends invited me out for drinks.”

“And you went out in costume?” he smirked.

“Costumes got us a couple of free rounds,” she shrugged. “It was supposed to be a surprise for you. I went through all the effort of decorating the apartment and inviting our friends over for tomorrow night. But I was mad you weren’t answering, so I decided to use my costume tonight.”

“I really am sorry,” Spencer said, slowly closing the distance between them. “And for the record, you look ravishing as Poison Ivy.”

“I looked better a couple of hours ago,” she pouted, crossing her arms around his neck as he snaked his onto her waist. “Now I’m all sweaty and tired. But I am relieved that you’re finally home.”

“I’m home, and I’m really, really sorry,” he smirked, kissing her softly before whispering in her ear, “and you are making me very hard.”

“Are you serious, Reid?” (Y/N) chuckled. “The only reason I didn’t think you were dead was because no agents had come to our door yet. And I find you here, after days of no communication, and you’re telling me you’re turned on?”

“What can I say, baby?” he grinned mischievously. “Something about you in this costume is doing things to me.”

“So a cheap wig and a green dress is all it takes to get you in the mood, huh?” she snickered. “That’s good to know, baby.”

“With or without a costume, you can get me hard in a second, (Y/N).”

“Doctor,” she gasped as he kneaded the skin of her ass. “You’re being quite riské.”

“I am in my home. With my beautiful girlfriend. Surrounded by amazing Halloween decorations. And an erection that is making these pants more uncomfortable than normal.”

“You’re so dirty when no one can see you,” she teased, kissing him and taking his bottom lip between her teeth. “What do you think your coworkers would think if they knew their resident boy-wonder was a dirty, dirty boy in private?”

“They don’t need to know,” Spencer smirked, his hands running up and down her body, feeling her curves under her dress. “There is only one person that I care about who knows how I am in the privacy of my home, and she already does.”

“You’re right about that,” (Y/N) sighed contentedly. “But I’m tired tonight. I was thinking of heading into bed.”

“And waste this masterpiece you have on?”

“Well, it was supposed to be a surprise for my boyfriend, but he kind of wasn’t returning my calls, so I spent all my energy tonight,” she sighed. (Y/N) wanted to tease him, though. If he wanted to take her to bed that night, she would make him work for it. She ran her hand across his bulge, squeezing his length. “I went out dancing and drinking, so many Batmans and Robins trying to get handsy with me. Even a few Harleys tried it.”

“And why didn’t you go home with any of them?” Spencer asked, his voice strangled as she continued her strokes. “I’m sure they would have definitely answered your calls. Not like that dumb boyfriend of yours.”

“Mmm, well, he’s good where I need him to be,” she grinned, nibbling on his ear until he winced. “Although, I do agree that with how he acted this week, he should be punished.”

“He should,” he panted. “He really should.”

With a devilish grin on her face, (Y/N) pushed Spencer’s body down to the ground so his face was directly in front of her weeping cunt. She spread her legs far enough to fit him between them and pushed his mouth onto her aching bud.

Spencer knew exactly what he had to do after he slid her panties down her legs. As soon as his face was buried between her folds, he stuck out his tongue and got to work. He traveled across her entrance, separating her labia, and landed on her clit. He sucked and lapped, he circled and pulled, all in an effort to hear the enchanting mewls that left her mouth.

One of her hands snaked into his hair, taking a handful of curls tightly between her digits. She pushed his head further into her, cutting off his air, just like he liked. Only when she came around his mouth would he be able to come up.

“Oh, baby, keep going,” she moaned, her grip tightening around his hair. “I’m so fucking close.”

Spencer hummed in approval against her, the vibrations sending shivers through her body. His mouth worked on her as adeptly as always, finding just the right spots to make her quiver under his touch. He could feel his mind growing hazy from the lack of oxygen, but it was only her pleasure that mattered. He has messed up, and he’d do anything to show her how sorry he was.

In moments like those, he was thankful for his training. He could last minutes without his breath. And for her, he would last hours if necessary. He knew (Y/N) would keep him there until she thought it was right; she would go without her climax until she decided his penance was enough.

And minutes that felt like hours were time enough for (Y/N). As Spencer’s jaw grew tight and sore, the woman above him finally let herself unfurl on his tongue, wailing out his name as she came.

“Good boy,” (Y/N) panted, using a finger under his chin to bring him back up to her face. “At least I know you’re good at doing as you’re told. Now, let’s go to the bed. I think you might deserve a treat this Halloween.”

“Will you keep the costume on?” Spencer asked, trailing along behind (Y/N) like a lost puppy. “Please, will you keep it on?”

“It wouldn’t be a treat if I didn’t,” she smirked. “As much as I would love to take this off, I love what it’s doing to you so much more.”

(Y/N) pulled Spencer to their room, letting go of his hand as she laid her body across the bed. After she rested her head on her pillow, she would not move another muscle. Spencer knew that. He knew it was his job to bring her to absolute pleasure. And only when she allowed him to would he join her in the bliss of his climax.

The woman spread her legs just enough to fit her boyfriend between them. Sluggishness was rapidly taking over her, but she fought against the grasp of sleep. It had been a week without him, and she wanted to enjoy every second awake. Well, for as long as her mind would let her.

Although, it wasn’t like Spencer was about to take his time.

With his eyes firmly set on her, Spencer removed his clothing quickly, layer after layer. He didn’t care where they landed. All he cared about was the quickness of his moves. There was a tiredness they both shared, exhaustion from an already long day. But one climax was all he wanted. It was all he needed.

Spencer crawled up her body, careful not to disturb a single leaf on her dress. Once at sue level, he cradled her cheek softly and pressed his lips to hers. He savored the taste of cheap alcohol and mixer with the cherry taste of her lip gloss.

“Baby, hurry up,” (Y/N) muttered against his lips. “I’m not gonna last much longer awake.”

“Your wish is my command,” he chuckled before kissing her again. “I’m close to passing out, too.”

He reached a hand between their legs, grabbing his cock and lining himself up with her entrance before sinking into her warmth. Spencer sighed as he felt her walls hugging him, welcoming his length like he belonged there.

His hips moved slowly into her, calculated and angled. He knew exactly what she needed to reach completion as quickly as possible. On any other night, Spencer would have been striving for longevity. Calculating the best way to make their time last. But at that moment, they wanted good, quick, and easy.

It wasn’t long until they were both panting, the tempo of his thrusts slowly increasing as the minutes passed. A thin sheet of sweat had formed on their skin, glimmering under the soft light of their bedroom lamps. Their breaths and their hearts were synchronized, the moment unifying theme as one.

“You’re close, baby,” (Y/N) chuckled softly. “The vein in your forehead is pulsing.”

“That’s because I’m focused on one thing,” he responded. “And you always make it hard on me.”

“Well, you can always do what you want,” she smirked. “But you know you’ll be punished later.”

“And that’s supposed to be a bad thing, right?”

“It can be.”

“That still sounds good to me.”

“That’s because you’re a sucker for pain, my darling,” (Y/N) snickered. “Now, hurry up and make me cum. Because you can’t until I do.”

With a focused stare sewn into his face, Spencer moved even more determinedly. He propped his body up with one of his arms, using the other to find (Y/N)’s clit, maneuvering the swollen bus until the moans that left her throat were strangled and consistent. He knew every part of her body, and it was impossible for him to forget how to work around them.

Spencer continued his attack, using only some of his strength to hold off the explosion that wanted to exit him. All he needed were a few more thrusts and a few more circlings of his fingers to have her come undone around him.

“Oh, fuck, Spence,” she cried as her back arched away from the bed, her nails digging into the soft skin of his arms. “You can come,” (Y/N) panted. “Go ahead, baby. You can come.”

It was just the instruction he needed to paint her walls white, shooting strand after strand of his seed deep inside her. “I love you, (Y/N),” he panted as he restated his forehead against her. “And I really am sorry for not calling sooner.”

“It’s okay, Spencer,” she smiled softly. One of her hands raised to caress his cheek, pressing her lips tenderly on his. “You made up for it. But the next time, I won’t be so… giving.”

“I would never dare,” he grinned. “Or maybe I would. It’s not like I don’t enjoy my punishments.”

“Oh, you kinky doctor,” she chuckled as she played with a curl that had fallen over his eyes. “Now, help me get out of this costume. It should be illegal to sell something so itchy.”

“But you’ll still wear it tomorrow, right? I mean, it is Halloween day.”

“You and your Halloween fever,” she laughed. “Fine. But you’re gonna clean up the apartment after. November first is officially Christmas.”

Next ->

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149 notes · View notes

blorbologist · 2 years

Note

perc'ahlia touch prompt 29?

TECHNICALLY not airplane saga bc I just got home, BUT! I'll tag these as airplane saga as I keep workin through them <3

Also thank u @burr-ell for the spark of inspo to treat myself to some fluff after this long ass weekend

29. tickling the other one

It starts as nothing - Vax pokes her in the side as he reaches for the marshmallows, and Vex shrieks. And it’s a little difficult for Percy to not notice, really, when she jumps clear off the folding chair and laughs like cricketsong.

“Vax, you fuck!” she giggles, half-crouched over her flank, her hotdog-adorned poker waving around to protect it.

And perhaps Percy does not get in on the betting with Scanlan and Keyleth as the twins have at eachother, stick clashing with warmed metal to hiss and snap in the air between them, the smoke dancing around their gleeful violence. Perhaps he does not take the time to explain to Tary that this is what normal siblings do, you poor thing, or assure Keyleth that no this is absolutely not safe and no, that is exactly why he will not be intervening.

In the end it’s Vex that disarms her brother - obviously, she was wielding smoldering mystery meat and a hot poker. She stabs her weapon into the dirt and gets to tickling Vax with a vengeance, until he shrieks just as shrill as she had and wiggles a touch too close to the fire in his attempts to escape. Grog pries them apart, then. Trinket makes off with Vex’s mangled sausage.

A lot happens, around that dying bonfire - to the point the swordfighting twins is only a footnote.

Korrin had needed to burn brush and old oaks that had fallen over the winter - thus, the first damp day of early summer Keyleth had gathered them all with the offer of booze, s'mores and sausages to help get the pile together, watch it burn bright and devastating, and then enjoy its glowing ruin.

So Grog had almost single-handedly forced a leaning dead pine to kneel - Keyleth’s antler circlet had gotten stuck in some low-hanging branches - Tary had tried to prove he could, in fact, climb a tree, and to everyone’s surprise he did actually figure it out, only to need help getting back down.

It’s definitely a fun morning of chores, a lazy afternoon shooting the shit, and a cozy evening, now, around the bed of embers broken by that pine’s seething remains.

That little swordfight sticks (lovely pun) out to Percy.

Well, not so much the display of terrible form his old instructors would bemoan. But the inciting incident.

Vex is ticklish. Outrageously so.

And it seems she’s reminded of this, for the rest of the night. Her eyes dart back and forth whenever someone approaches, however innocently, a gleam of teeth a touch too wild. Like she might bolt into the woods, her path unhindered thanks to their work. She leans, just a touch, to protect her sides, tucks her sawdust-speckled flannel closer and tightens the arms of her denim jacket around her waist.

Percival, it should be noted, grew up with six siblings.

He is very, very good at getting past even the best guard for the sake of a good laugh.

And maybe he’s never heard something quite so delicate from Vex. No, delicate is the wrong word - brutal, instead, in its joy, something she couldn’t hold back if she tried.

(She tries, always, to hold so much back. Even just a little, often, out of habit. He knows - he does it too.)

Percy bides his time.

There’s truth or dare, and an attempt at replicating beerpong with pinecones and the bed of coals, and Vax swipes Percy’s glasses to he and Grog can try to look at minnows in the creek with them (Percy will not give them the excuse of being very inebriated).

Percy has to muck around in the riverrocks and mud for his spectacles, finding them with his feet and emerging soaked. Pike and Vex wolfwhistle - he thanks his adoring audience by wringing out his shirt over their heads before leaving it to dry by the fire.

Okay, maybe he forgets about his little plan from time to time. He brought his whiskey with him - between its silky bite and the beer he’s been mouthing, Percy is maybe not the most sober of the group. That might be Grog, just by virtue of his size - if not him then Tary.

Korrin bid them good night before it was night at all, clearly not wanting to infringe on their fun. Vax drags Keyleth to bed after she leans far enough forward her hair starts to smoke. Scanlan dares Pike to carry him to bed and she’s too plastered to decline the challenge, tossing him into his sleeping bag with a roar before stomping off to her own. Grog and Tary vanish sometime, too. Even Trinket is just about tuckered out, dozing beside the designated seating log (spared of the fire for a cool knot in the trunk).

It takes Percy longer than he would admit to realize it’s just him and Vex left.

To be completely fair, she’s good conversation - it just flows. White water one moment, rapids, rapid and quick-witted, to curl into languid eddies and sandbars another, pooling in silences.

The debate about the state of the film industry had started while they still had company - they might have gone to bed sometime before Vex’s enthusiastic argument for trees potentially having personalities. Or maybe after Percy rattled on about his latest pet project - tried his hand a cuckoo clock, to mixed results so far - and Vex just watched and nodded and leaned and leaned and leaned in to ask her questions, and - and where was he?

It takes him until roughly this point to remember he’d wanted to tickle her.

Unfortunately, she’s bundled up against the encroaching chill you only find in a summertime woodland - a coarse blanket Korrin had tossed them all earlier folded around her as wings.

“Would you mind sharing?” Percy asks. Rubs his hands up and down his arms at Vex’s curious look. “Will catch something at this rate, after my little dip.”

Percy is fairly certain that boozy Percy is the most strikingly brilliant Percy to have ever Percy’d.

Vex snorts, unfurling the blanket to invite him closer. “Poor you,” she teases, dramatically . “You’ll catch your death without me.”

“I’ve certainly caught something,” he says, blithe, and before Vex can do something his hands have snaked around her waist to dance and dance and dance. No foreplay with the silly pokes or threat of tickles - oh no, Percy is going straight for the kill.

And, well, maybe he gets it, because Vex shrieks in his ear and he perhaps regrets most of this when she elbows him on reflex just below the ribs.

“Stubby?” Vax, raising his voice, raspy with sleep and fear. “Is everything alright?”

He doesn’t direct this to Percy, who is objectively the one who is not alright here, clutching his abdomen and leaning his head to Vex’s shoulder as he catches his breath. She’s cackling in victory, the vixen.

“Peachy!” Vex replies, voice a ditty. “Percy’s just being a little shit.”

“I am not,” he huffs. Wheezes, probably, but he would like to maintain his dignity and shall insist it was a huff. “I’m a man of science, and I - I have the hypothesis that you don’t really laugh enough.”

Vex’s brows furrow. “I laugh all the time-”

“Really laugh,” Percy emphasizes. “The sort - you know, no holding -”

- Back, he would have said, except she’s turned the tables on him and is assaulting his flanks. Hells, she’s even bolder and slips a hand under the shirt he borrowed from Vax to tickle the skin there.

Percy yelps, scrabbling to get away even as laughter boils over into a foamy laugh of his own. Vex’s joins in, triumphant, until his wiggling ends up toppling them both over, ass over teakettle, into the leaflitter. Percy takes the opportunity to retaliate, hands soft claws attacking the sliver of skin he finds over her jeans. The muscles jump and Vex cackles harder, rolling into a ball which he pokes apart, which she uses to find an opening and tickle him in turn.

“Forfeit!”

“Fuck no!”

(It does not matter who says which - both swap and repeat the words so often Percy quickly loses track.)

They’re breathless and crusted with leaves and Percy’s sides fucking hurt and so does his face from laughing, and he’s pretty sure Pike’s told them to quiet down twice but he can’t stop and frankly he’s not sure he would if he could, because oh he’s drunk, yes, but he’ll attribute the floating state of his heart to being tipsy tasting Vex’s laugh - so close yet so far.

Huh. Now, when did that happen?

Not sure - sometime before now, when he’s finally got a hold on her, grabbing both her arms - effectively putting an end to their war of attrition.

“Got you-”

- Only, nope, she’s gone - slipped clear of the snare of his arms.

And then she’s back, but shoving him face-first into the mulch, a twig dragging over his glasses.

“Sorry, darling,” Vex says, with both a genuine wince and a sincere satisfaction. “Comfortable down there? I hope you didn’t get a mouthful of gross.”

Percy spits out some crumbled leaf on principle.

“Forfeit?” she repeats, from between his shoulderblades, with one last ghost of her knuckles over his sides. It’s a little hard to laugh, half-crushed into the forest floor, but somehow Vex manages to draw it from Percy all the same.

When he feebly rocks back and forth, trying to get free, Vex adds, lightly, “I could call Trinket over to lick your face. You’re so lucky he’s slept through all this fun so far.”

“Fine,” he snickers. “Fine! Let me up, dear.”

“Hm, nah,” she decides. “I like my prize.”

Something’s happening to his hair. It takes Percy a moment to place the sensation of Vex sprinkling leaves and bits of fern into his hair like confetti.

“Not the hair,” he groans, thumping his forehead into the ground. The sound is not as satisfying as he would have hoped. “Cruel woman, leave the hair out of it.”

“Only because you ask so nicely,” Vex snarks, and -

Oh.

And she cards her fingers through his hair, combing free her celebratory mischief, and everything takes on an entirely new angle for Percy.

“Vex, darling,” he hums, strains to get the sound out a timber above a growl, “please let me up?”

Percy would bet good money she taps at her lip in playful thought before she responds, “No. I told you, Percival - I like my prize.”

“Ah,” says Percy. “Quite enlightening.”

The dying fire pops, shudders as the remaining logs tumble inward on eachother. Pulled together, pulled down, pulled in. Not melting to the heat but made fallible by it. There’s certainly a second meaning in that pile of embers and coal. Are they anything but embers and coal?

Percy’s certainly a fire of Vex’s making, now - a nice burn to his muscles from their war, a nice burn to his belly from the alcohol, a nice burn to his heart flaring hopeful and flickering at the thought -

Percy swallows. He hears Vex echo it, faintly.

“Darling,” he says, “I could stay down here. But, ah - I would really appreciate the opportunity to look at my captor.”

Just to know. The thought - the possibility - it’s very effective at sobering Percy right up. And he wants to see because if he sees he will know and then he could - he will know.

Vex shrugs, turns the movement into a shift of her hips. It takes some wiggling, and a root digs into Percy’s back, but he’s looking up at her, now. Which is, wow, certainly an improvement. Her braid is in the process of turning into many snakes, a Medusa of their making, sprouting twigs too. There’s a smear of marshmallow on her hand, pinning his chest, and streaks of soot on her forehead where she keeps brushing away her hair.

She’s straddling his hips, which is - it’s just - completely unfair, Vex’ahlia.

It looks like she knows it, which. Well. Still a dirty trick, but one that means something.

“Vex’ahlia? Dear?”

“Hm?” It comes out a little shrill.

“I - hm.” Percy frowns. It feels wrong after smiling so much. “I think I’ve lost all the words I had in mind somewhere in the leaflitter, so. Simple: I am stupidly in love with you, and would love to kiss you right about now.”

Vex laughs - not quite the sort she’s been generous with this evening, drawn forth involuntarily, but a cousin. Buried in the same family lot - sudden and rare and real. No added sugar, no preservatives, plucked straight from the wilds of her heart.

“Ask again.”

Percy blinks, thoroughly confused and suddenly terrified by the forest sprite sitting on - oh gods. “May I kiss you?”

“No,” Vex repeats, a breath breathed a breath away and Percy is going to die, here, of humiliation or torment or both -

Oh.

Ah. Vixen.

No, he could not kiss her - because she would kiss him.

It’s a gods-awful kiss. Practically speaking - Vex’s lips are sticky with marshmallows and Percy’s fairly sure she can taste half the undergrowth on his mouth. The angle is mathematically impossible - surely, if Percy could just do the numbers. His throat is sore from the smoke and everything feels a touch numb from the giggling.

But it’s Vex, and his burned, burning little heart spins every detail into a fairy tale and he can’t help but lean up and in and hope she keeps him as her prize forever, carries him home like a stuffed bear at a fairground. Or, no, she’s not nearly strong enough for her, but has anyone considered the devotion a prize would give its winner?

He’s so fucking in love with her it makes him stupid and for once in his life Percy cannot mind being the fool.

It’s illogical and it’s amazing.

One tiny, innocuous detail:

Percy is, not above all else but above a fair few things, a little shit.

So when he feels Vex smile and lean her weight into him, licking into his mouth, hands sliding into his shirt, he brushes his knuckles to the skin just above her hips.

She laughs, startled, throws her head back so fast she knocks into his nose - comes back in just as quickly to bite his lip in retaliation.

Pairs it with a tickle of her hand against his neck, which - fuck, that’s his weak spot and Percy makes a sound he will refuse forevermore to describe.

And the rest of Vox Machina will struggle to describe, because oh, yes, they’re all in tents not ten feet away.

“What the fuck are you two up to?” Scanlan hollers. “Is it finally happening?”

“What’s finally - nope, nevermind, good fucking night!” Vax wails.

“It’s peachy,” Percy mutters in a silly smack to Vex’s cheek, and she laughs even louder.

#critical role #cr fic #critical role fanfiction #perc'ahlia #percahlia #cr vex #vex'ahlia #percy de rolo #cr percy #ask game #airplane saga #written in one sitting YEEHAW ENJOY this was so much fun #projecting my country kid experience - dad would have us clean parts of the woods every year #my writing

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madamemiz · 2 years

Text

something for chapter 3 ft the other side of the wizmobile

#writing what i know as their first stop #:3c #got some good inspo for it this past weekend too #almost done w ch 2 and i'm planning to start posting once i'm done w 3 #so uh. yeah!! written content soon #fnaf sb #fnaf daycare attendant #my art #fnaf sun #ventura highway

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criminalmindzjunkie · 4 years

Text

Hungry Eyes

masterlist

Summary: Spencer is tired of hiding your relationship.

A/N: The idea for this fic came from a lovely anon that requested a fic based on She’s So Nice by Pink Guy. I also drew inspo from Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen (strange mix, but stay with me here.) So basically, a lot of Dom!Spencer goodness. I’d like to say a huge thank you for almost 1k followers, because wow. I never imagined 5 people would actually want to read my writing. I love you all, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future works!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, jealousy, degradation, spitting, slapping, oral sex (male and female receiving), spanking, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

Word Count: 5.5k

“That is one fine piece of ass. Don’t think I could get any work done with a sweet little thing like that prancing around my precinct,” mutters yet another sleezeball detective, beady eyes trained on you like a lion might study their prospective prey. It’s moments like these that Spencer has to remind himself that patience is a virtue – that he must bite his tongue because he’s at work and that means he has to act professional. Even if those around him don’t seem capable of affording him the same luxury.

So, it’s with a clenched jaw and all the self-restraint that he can muster that Spencer forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Because Spencer is a professional, and there are more pressing matters that demand his undivided attention. The detective could be dealt with later – in the form of a complaint to the higher ups. But for now, patience.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. Years on the job had taught Spencer to remain level headed no matter the circumstance. Usually, Spencer could tune out the locker room talk in favor of immersing himself into the case. But when it came to you, or rather, people who dared to look upon you with eyes laden with lustful intentions, Spencer had a rather short fuse.

It happens often, and he supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised. You’d certainly turned his head the first time he was fortunate enough to lay eyes on you. He’d nearly broken his neck trying to steal another glimpse of you as you walked past him on your way to Emily’s office on your first day. No one would ever describe Spencer Reid as forward, but on that day, he was the most brazen he’d ever been.

Throwing caution to the wind, Spencer made a split-second decision stop you and introduce himself.

It was the best decision he would ever make.

So, yes – he understood why the head of everyone you passed turned your way, eager to bask in your unparalleled beauty. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. In fact, every time Spencer caught some imprudent bastard leering at you, he had to remind himself that enacting physical force on another person with no real reason could cost him his job. That, and he was above resorting to violence – or at least he was, until you came around.

Part of his anger was rooted in the obvious lack of respect. It didn’t matter if Spencer held your hand in his as the two of you walked down the street, or if he kissed you on the lips in the middle of a crowded restaurant. All the PDA in the world did nothing to assuage the lingering stares, and Spencer felt his sanity chip away with every passing day.

In the beginning, keeping his relationship with you a secret from your colleagues seemed like a good enough idea. Both of you were in agreement that you didn’t want to your personal relationship to affect your professional one, so when the elevator doors opened up and the two of you stepped out into the bullpen, you both were on your best behavior. And it was okay at first – Spencer was able to put his romantic feelings aside and focus on his work, all while still being able to make eyes at you from across the room. It was the perfect arrangement.

Until it wasn’t.

Because it wasn’t enough that you were gorgeous – you were also the most selfless person that Spencer had ever met. Always eager to lend a hand to anyone in need – always seeing the best in everyone, regardless of if they deserve it or not. It was an admirable quality to have, and he loved you for it, but on days like today he wishes you were a little more perceptive.

That, and he wishes you’d chosen to wear anything but the tight little skirt and low-cut top that you were currently sporting. Not that he didn’t love the way the fabric clung to your figure like it was tailor-made for you – because he did - it was just that every other male in the precinct seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. And that made Spencer’s blood boil.

The tipping point comes when, just as Spencer is trying to hunt you down and propose a quick lunch break, he finds you engaging in conversation with the very same detective that had been spouting lewd comments about you all morning. You’re seated at the breakroom table, clutching a fresh cup of coffee in hand as you look up at the man, a polite smile upturning your lips as you listen to him drone on about how his amateur baseball team had won some stupid fucking tournament the previous weekend. He’s smiling down at you, endlessly smug and way too pleased with himself at having captured your attention.

It makes Spencer sick.

His reprieve comes when your eyes flit to the doorway and you flash him a breathtaking smile. It makes him warm from the inside out, and Spencer wants nothing more than to plant kiss after kiss on your lips. Unfortunately, he can’t, so he settles on returning your smile.

“There you are,” Spencer greets as he crosses the room before coming to a stop next to you. “I was thinking we could go grab lunch.”

“Is it really lunch time already?” you murmur as you glance down at your watch. “I guess I let the day get away from me. Detective Yarborough was just telling me about the baseball game his team won this weekend.”

“Oh, was he now,” Spencer feigns interest as he turns to face the man.

“Yup,” you say, completely oblivious to the uncomfortable tension. “Didn’t you tell me you played in a baseball game once?”

This piques the interest of Yarborough and he raises an eyebrow at Spencer.

“You play?” he asks, tone laden with disbelief.

“Not exactly.”

The detective merely harrumphs in response, and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

Your eyes dart between the two men and your brows furrow adorably as you try to make sense of the almost palpable animosity.

“Okay… So, lunch. Did you have anything in mind, Spence?”

“There’s a really good pizza joint two blocks from here,” Yarborough chimes in. “I could show you, if you like.”

He acts as if the offer extends to you both, but the way he looks only at you when he says it tells Spencer otherwise.

“The hospitality is appreciated, but that won’t be necessary,” Spencer breezes, clipped and to the point. He’s able to see in his peripheral vision the way your eyebrows raise in shock, but he’s too busy glaring at the detective to care.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks anyways, Detective,” you mutter confusedly as you stand.

“Anything for a pretty lady such as yourself,” he replies. “And you can call me Trevor.”

Spencer’s hands are clenched into fists and he has to actually bite down on his tongue to keep from doing something he’d surely regret later. You bid Trevor ado with a smile and a parting wave, and then Spencer’s ushering you out of the room and down the hall, hand placed firmly on your back. He can’t do much in regards to initiating physical contact, but he allows himself this miniscule act of PDA. The feeling of your warmth radiating through your blouse is the only thing keeping him from giving into his primal instincts. Instincts that are screaming at him to put that smarmy bastard in his place.

The hours after lunch pass by rather uneventfully. You accompany Tara when she goes to interview the victim’s family, and for the first-time all-day Spencer is able to repress his frustration long enough to focus on piecing together a geographical profile. By the time you and Tara return, the sun has long since disappeared from the sky and fatigue is rolling off everyone in waves. When Emily finally announces the end of the day, she’s met with absolutely no resistance.

Spencer immediately scans the room for you, only to frown when he sees that you’re nowhere in sight. In fact, he hasn’t set eyes on you in well over an hour, too busy wrapping up the days’ work to notice your absence until now.

“Has anyone seen Y/N?” Spencer calls out. His question is met by several shaking heads.

“I think she’s busy,” JJ sing-songs, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Spencer’s frown only deepens.

“Busy?”

JJ nods.

“Yarborough has been chomping at the bit to ask her to dinner. My guess is he’s got her cornered somewhere.”

Of fucking course.

Spencer’s out of his seat and stomping through the precinct in second, oblivious to the way his coworkers exchange curious glances as he storms off.

He finds the two of you in much the same way as before, only this time Trevor is blocking your path to the doorway, hand in the air as he moves to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear.

“– C’mon, babe. Say you’ll go to dinner with me,” Trevor croons in a way that’s supposed to come off as seductive. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

You lean backwards in an attempt to evade his touch, and you barely get the chance to open your mouth when Spencer intervenes.

“She’s not interested.”

The detective whips around, snorting in annoyance when he sees Spencer standing in the doorway.

“What are you, her fucking keeper?” Trevor sneers, before turning back to face you. “Who does this guy think he is?”

Something in Spencer snaps, then – the same something that has been swelling inside him for months, threatening to spill over every time he had to pretend that the stares didn’t enrage him. He’s tired of pretending, tired of hiding, and so, so fucking tired of not putting assholes like Trevor Yarborough in their place.

Fueled by months of suppressed anger, Spencer manages to cross the room in about two seconds. He has several inches on the detective, standing at an intimidating six-foot one inch in height, so when he comes to a stop right in front of the detective, he’s looming over him threateningly.

“I’m her fucking boyfriend, and if you so much as try to touch her again, I’ll break your goddamn hand,” Spencer spits out, and he’d be lying if he said the way Trevor’s eyes widen in fear doesn’t thrill him. “Are we clear?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, dude,” Trevor splutters, raising his hands in surrender. “Didn’t know she was taken. My bad.”

Spencer tears his eyes away from the detective and takes in the way you’re watching on with an amused expression. He reaches out, and you’re quick to place your hand in his. Without speaking another word to the detective, Spencer leads you from the room and out the back entrance of the precinct.

“What was that?” you tease, eyes glistening mischievously underneath the street lights. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t taking things public just yet?”

Spencer crowds you against the brick wall of the building, pressing his body flush against yours. He ducks down swiftly, pulling you into a frenzied kiss. His lips drag against yours relentlessly, and all it takes is one breathy moan before he’s licking into your mouth possessively. Spencer slots his knee in between your legs, simultaneously groping at your chest with one hand as the other tangles in your hair.

When Spencer pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck as you writhe against him, hands clinging tightly to his dress shirt. You whimper when his teeth nip at the tender spot right under your ear, and you can’t help the way your hips cant up when Spencer’s tongue brushes against reddened skin.

“I’m tired of pretending,” Spencer murmurs as his mouth continues to move against you, sucking purple bruises against your flesh. “Don’t fucking care about how it will affect the job. Tomorrow, everyone’s gonna know that you’re mine. Gonna mark every inch of you tonight – gonna fuck you until you can’t fucking walk.”

“Please,” you slur as you guide Spencer’s hand down until his fingers graze the end of your skirt. Spencer chuckles darkly against your neck when his hand brushes against the soiled lace of your panties.

“Didn’t mean I’d fuck you right here,” he laughs, prompting you to let out an impatient whine. The hand that was previously tangled in your hair slides down until it’s wrapped around your throat, and Spencer’s cock twitches eagerly in his pants when you push your throat harder into his palm. “Such a needy little slut for me. Ready and willing for me to fuck you out in the open, where anyone could walk by and see how fucking desperate you are for my cock.”

“M’ your slut,” you pant as Spencer’s middle and index fingers ghost across your center. “Only yours, Spence. I don’t care who sees, just - please fuck me!”

“I fucking own you,” Spencer growls against your lips as he tightens his hold on your throat. “And as much as I’d love to take you right against this wall, the things I have planned for you would elicit quite an audience. I know how loud you like to be.”

Spencer pushes your panties to the side and you let out a low hiss as he drags a finger across where want him most. You cry out in frustration when he removes his hand to bring it up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick his finger clean.

“Just needed a little taste to tide me over,” Spencer murmurs, smirking devilishly at you as he steps back from you. “Let’s head back to the hotel. I’ve got lots I wanna do to you, pretty girl.”

As soon as the door to the hotel room clicks shut, clothes are flying off as the two of you make your way to the bed. It’s a mad dash as you both undress, and as soon as the last garment leaves your body, Spencer pounces on you. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, and the way you immediately go pliant as Spencer’s mouth works against yours makes him hum appreciatively.

“Don’t feel like being nice tonight. Are you gonna let me use that pretty little pussy however I want?” Spencer inquires, though he already knows the answer. He’s known how tonight would pan out ever since the first roll of your hips against his back at the police station.

You nod fervently, hopelessly, and Spencer moves his hand up to grip your chin in his hand. The pad of his thumb traces over the swollen skin of your kiss bruised lips.

“What about this?” he asks, tapping lightly against your lip. “Are you gonna let me fuck this slutty little mouth of yours?” Spencer slips his thumb into your mouth and you immediately close your lips around the digit, suckling lightly. Your eyes never leave his.

“You’d do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you, pet?” Spencer muses, pressing his thumb farther into your mouth until you gag around him. Spencer withdraws his thumb and his hand tugs hard on the hair at the back of your scalp. “Open.”

You oblige immediately, and Spencer spits into your waiting mouth. You swallow without being instructed, and the visual of it makes Spencer let out a low groan.

“Get on your knees,” Spencer barks out, and the way you scramble to follow his order makes him let out a chuckle. “So eager to have my cock in your mouth,” he hums as he taps his dick teasingly against your cheek. You open your mouth wide for him, and Spencer guides your mouth down onto his dick at a tantalizingly slow pace. You let out a moan as you hollow your cheeks around his head, tongue lapping greedily at the precum that gathered there before Spencer makes you take him deeper.

“Everyone thinks you’re such an innocent little thing, but here you are, letting me use you like a cheap whore while you enjoy every minute of it,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as you moan wantonly around his cock. It isn’t until he’s halfway down your throat that your eyes begin to water, mascara running down your cheeks as he fucks into your mouth.

Spencer lets out a choked sound when your nose brushes against the skin of his abdomen, and he has to fight the urge to throw his head back in pleasure. He doesn’t want to look away, not even for a moment. Not when you’re looking up at him like that, tears running down your face as you swallow around his length.

He pulls you off him just the tiniest bit before he’s forcing you back down, a string of curses falling from his lips as your head bobs up and down.

“You take my cock so well, pretty girl,” Spencer praises, prompting you to let out a muffled moan around him. The vibrations send a shock of pleasure through him and he can help the way his hips stutter. “Fuck, baby. You like it when I tell you what a perfect little whore you are, don’t you?”

You’re unable to answer, because Spencer presses down on the back of your head until you’ve taken all of him again. The pressure he puts on you doesn’t relent, not even when you gag around him.

“Fucking choke on it, slut,” Spencer grunts. “Don’t act like you don’t want this. You were just begging me to fuck you in an alley not twenty minutes ago, like some pathetic fucking tramp. You wanna act like a tramp, I’m gonna treat you like one.”

Spencer’s lips curl into a debauched grin when your hands come up and grip the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer and further down your throat.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Spencer moans, giving several more harsh thrusts before pulling you off of him completely. Spencer reaches down to wipe at the spit that coats your lips as you look up at him with a shy smile.

“You okay, pretty girl?” Spencer asks as he caresses the side of your face.

“Mm,” you hum, nuzzling your face against his palm. “Keep going, please. Don’t hold back.”

“God, I fucking love you,” Spencer sighs happily. “Get on the bed.”

By the time Spencer fishes a tie out of his suitcase, you’re sprawled out across the bed, head resting against the pillows with your legs spread wide. Your teeth are nestled against your bottom lip as you watch him stalk towards you, eyes running up and down his naked figure appreciatively.

Spencer crawls onto the bed until he’s settled in between your legs. You present your wrists to him, just like you’ve done a million times before, and Spencer feels that familiar thrum of excitement rush through his body. He fucking lives for moments like these – moments where all his problems melt away to nothing. Moments where he has no other thought than wrecking you, thoroughly and completely.

Once your wrists are bound you hold them above you, and Spencer sits back on his heels, eyes raking up and down every inch of you.

“M’ so fucking lucky to be the only one who gets to see you like this.”

Spencer pinches your right nipple in between his fingers and you let out a squeak, hips bucking up, desperate for some friction. He kneads your breast in his hand as he lowers his mouth to the other one, tongue laving around you. A light nip from his teeth is all that it takes for you to cry out, eyelids fluttering closed.

“Spence, please. Need you to touch me now, pl-”

Spencer’s hand connecting with your cheek stops you from finishing your sentence.

“Do not tell me what to do,” Spencer seethes, once again gripping your chin to keep you from looking away. “Ungrateful slut. I should just leave you here, fucking dripping and desperate for a release that you won’t get. Maybe then you’d learn to take what’s given to you.”

“Please, no! I’ll be good, I swear. I’m sorry!”

Spencer narrows his eyes at you, contemplative.

“Open.”

You do as he says, and without another word Spencer inserts two fingers into your mouth, pressing down hard on your tongue.

“Get them nice and wet, and maybe I’ll think about using them on you.”

You do as he tells you, and by the time Spencer removes his fingers from your mouth, you’re trembling underneath him from anticipation.

“D-Did I do good?” you stutter out, batting your lashes at him as you squirm under his gaze.

“So good, baby. I think you’ve earned my fingers,” Spencer hums. “Need you to be still, okay? You’re not gonna like what happens if you try to move.”

You nod enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut when his fingers brush across your clit. Spencer spends ample time rubbing deliciously slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, relishing in every gasp and whimper that falls from your lips. Lips that he’d very much like to kiss, so he does, and you’re more than happy to reciprocate. Spencer lets out a happy sigh into your mouth.

You get lost in the kiss, so lost in the way that Spencer licks into your mouth that it catches you completely off guard when he slides two fingers into you.

“Oh, God,” you moan when Spencer curls his fingers against your walls, fucking them in and out of you, slow and unrelenting.

“S’that feel good, princess?” Spencer asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tell me how it feels.”

Your head falls back against the pillows as you struggle to keep your hips firmly placed on the mattress.

“Feels amazing, Spence. Always feels so good with you. Never want anyone else, only you.”

And fuck, if that sentiment doesn’t shoot straight to his heart - amongst other places. Spencer places a tender kiss to your cheek before he’s moving down to your neck and sucking a bruise right under your jaw.

“Yeah?” Spencer prompts. “Not even that stupid fucking detective? I’m sure he’d love a chance to see you like this.”

“So, you were jealous,” you chuckle between moans, and Spencer bites down hard where your neck meets your shoulder.

“F-Fuck, Spencer!”

“Should I be jealous?” Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers, scissoring them at such an unforgiving pace that you can’t help but roll your hips against them.

You regret this instantly, because Spencer’s fingers immediately pull out of you, leaving you empty and cold. Spencer tuts, shaking his head disappointedly.

“Dumb little whore can’t even sit still long enough to cum on my fingers.”

“Please, let me try again. I’ll do better, I promise!”

Spencer shakes his head and scoots up until his back is rested against the pillows.

“C’mere,” he commands. “Lay across my lap. Or can you not follow simple commands?”

“I-I can,” you whisper as you crawl across him, splaying out so that you rest on your elbows with your ass in the air.

Spencer grabs a handful of your ass and kneads it in his hands.

“How many do you think you deserve?”

You blush and smile shyly at him from over your shoulder.

“However many you want to give me. I can take it.”

Spencer returns your smile.

“Good answer. I think you can handle fifteen. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect. T-Thank you, Spencer,” you mumble, cheeks burning red. Spencer continues to caress the tender skin of your bare ass, admiring the way the skin is completely blank; the perfect canvas.

You let out a whimper when his hand comes down hard on your ass before kneading the sensitive, reddening skin.

“T-Thank you,” you gasp out, and Spencer is quick to follow up with another strike against the opposite cheek.

It goes on like this until it’s time for the fifteenth strike, and by then you’ve devolved into garbled whines, ass bright red and marked up with the imprint of Spencer’s hands. His dick is painfully hard underneath you, and you’re in a similar state – arousal dripping onto Spencer’s thigh, coating it.

“Last one, baby. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Y-Yes,” you choke out. “Please, I need it. Hurt me, please.”

The desperation in your voice does things to him, makes him practically feral with the need to fucking tear you apart, and Spencer is quick to deliver the final blow. You barely even have it in you to cry out anymore – a feeble sob is all that falls from your lips.

Spencer’s hand ghosts down across your bruised skin until his fingertips trace over where you drip for him.

“You like it when I punish you, don’t you, dirty girl?” Spencer hums as his fingers glide over your soaked folds.

“Y-Yes,” you mewl, shifting so that your cunt grinds back onto his hand. Spencer indulges you - allows you to rock your hips against his palm as he watches on in awe, soaking up every desperate sound that tumbles past your lips.

Spencer pulls his hand away after a moment and you keen in protest.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?” Spencer asks, and you nod, because of course you do – you’d do anything if you thought it’d please him. You struggle to pull yourself up with shaky limbs, and Spencer puts a hand on your lower back to steady you. “Can you straddle my leg? Yeah, just like that.” Spencer pulls you down and places a slow kiss to your lips, one hand coming up to wipe away the tears gliding down your face. After a moment of slow, sweet kisses are shared, Spencer unties your wrists.

“I want you to ride my thigh – can you do that, princess?”

You whimper as you lower yourself down onto his leg, eyes fluttering shut as you begin to rock against the hardened muscle of his leg.

Spencer continues placing kisses on your lips, your face, your neck – worshipping every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, all while whispering praises against you.

“So perfect for me. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs as he grips your hips with steady hands, urging you to increase the speed of your hips. “Can’t wait to have that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock. Always so tight, yet you take it so well every time.”

“S-Spence, m’ close,” you slur, hands clinging desperately to his shoulders.

“Already? You usually last a bit longer than that, baby.”

“P-Please, Spencer, I can’t-” you whimper, tears once again pricking at the corners of your eyes at the thought of having to wait a second longer.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay, you can cum,” Spencer reassures you, and your shoulders visibly untense. “Cum for me, pretty girl.”

It takes two more rolls of your hips for you to cum on Spencer’s thigh with a cry of his name. Spencer rubs soothing circles into your hips as you ride out your high, murmuring broken thank yous as you come down.

Finally, you still, and your eyes open, pupils so dilated that your eyes look almost black in the dim light of the hotel room.

“You okay, princess?”

You give a weak nod.

“M’great,” you smile, sounding as fucked out as he’s ever heard you. You lean down and slot your mouth against his, and the kiss is slow and languid – soft and unhurried.

Spencer is the first to pull away.

“Need you to get on all fours for me,” he instructs. “Don’t think you need to put any pressure on that pretty little ass of yours right now.”

You giggle at that, before crawling off of Spencer’s lap. You assume the position, and Spencer places a pillow underneath your hips before trailing a line of kisses down your spine. By the time he reaches your ass, you’re writing against him, wiggling your hips eagerly. Spencer places a kiss to both of your bruised cheeks before pulling away.

You let out a startled oh! when Spencer licks up your center, parting you with his fingers before fucking in and out of you with his tongue.

“S-Spence, oh my God, yes!” you cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as he continues to work his mouth against your core.

“Love your fucking pussy so much,” Spencer sighs against you, lapping at your clit hungrily. “Could fucking lick you out for hours. You taste so perfect, Y/N.”

Spencer lets out a filthy groan against you, and that’s all it takes for you to fall over the edge, wrecked moans filling the otherwise silent hotel room. This orgasm hits you both quicker and harder than the first, and he can’t help but smile against you as you rock back against his face, desperate to prolong the sensation. Spencer continues to work you through your orgasm, stopping only when you cease to twitch underneath him.

“Such a good girl for me. Think you can handle one more?”

You raise up just enough that you can look at him from over your shoulder.

“Yes, please,” you beg, voice scratchy and raw. “Please, fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spencer chuckles. “Do you think you can lay on your back? I wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum on my cock.”

You answer by rolling over, wincing slightly when your ass comes in contact with the sheets. You look up at Spencer with wide, doe eyes. You have mascara smeared all down your cheeks and your lips are swollen, and to top it all off, deep, purple love bites are dusted across the entire expanse of your neck and chest. Spencer had set out to mark you as his – so that no one would be able to deny that you belonged to him – and he’d done a spectacular job, if he said so himself.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty.”

“Then come fuck me already,” you challenge, looking sated in every possible way – yet still, your eyes hold the same hunger that he’s sure is reflected in his own eyes.

Spencer leans down and traps your lips in a bruising kiss, and without warning he thrusts in you to the hilt. You cry out into the kiss, startled by the sudden intrusion, but Spencer sets a brutal pace that leaves you no time to recover.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you,” he growls against your lips. “Now fucking take it.”

He’s fucking into you so hard that you can’t even manage a reply – you just tighten your legs around his waist and drag your nails across the expanse of his back, no doubt leaving bright red marks in your wake. Spencer can feel his own release fast approaching – honestly, he’s been close ever since the first drag of his tongue against your pussy. And now that he’s finally enveloped into your tight, wet heat, that all too familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach is threatening to consume him.

Spencer’s hand descends from its place next to your head down to your clit, and your whole body jolts with the first swipe of his thumb. You clench around him as a litany of particularly filthy utterances escapes you, and Spencer’s hips stutter.

“Fuck, princess,” he groans, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he struggles to regain his rhythm. “You don’t even know what you do to me. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. Never fucking want to lose you. Love you so much.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you chant into his ear, sounding like some kind of siren, luring him straight to his inevitable ruination. “I’m so close, Spence. Cum with me, please? I want to feel you. Please, baby.”

“Y-Yeah, fuck,” Spencer chokes out. “Say my name when you cum, princess. Want everyone to know how good I fuck you.”

And when you cum with a shout of his name, walls pulsating deliciously around his cock, Spencer is quick to join you. He continues to roll his hips against yours as you both ride it out, whispers of almost intelligible affirmations being shared between slow, loving kisses.

After a moment of post-orgasm bliss, Spencer leaves and returns with a bottle of cocoa butter lotion and a warm, wet rag. You watch on with heavy lidded eyes as he cleans you up, and for a moment, he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. It’s not until he finishes slathering your reddened backside with lotion that you speak again.

“You shouldn’t be jealous, by the way,” you murmur as he lays down beside you. “You’re it for me, Spencer Reid. I don’t ever want you to doubt that I’m anything less than crazy about you.”

It’s everything that Spencer’s ever wanted to hear, and just like that, every fear – every insecurity that had plagued him in the past several months – fell away to nothing. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been worried in the first place.

“You’re it for me, too,” Spencer whispers as he pulls you until his arms and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, you know,” you remark as you nuzzle into Spencer’s side.

“Don’t care,” he sighs happily. “I’ll shout it from the roof tops if I have to. I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”

“You’re a sap, Doctor Reid.”

“Only for you.”

A moment of blissful silence passes, before the sound of your growling stomach sets you both into a fit of giggles.

“We never did get dinner, did we?” Spencer muses as he lightly runs his fingernails across your scalp. You hum appreciatively and a pleased shiver rolls through you.

“Nope. You were a little too preoccupied with marking your territory to even offer to feed me,” you tease as you run your fingertips down the planes of his chest.

“Well, now that that’s been taken care of - could I interest you in some takeout?”

“Possibly,” you sigh, flattening your palm on his chest, right over his heart. “Do you think that pizza place Trevor mentioned delivers?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Is that a no?”

“... Look up the number.”

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toomanybandstocare · 2 years

Text

{What the Older ST Characters Wear as Halloween Costumes}

Program: Just some spooky thoughts about how the older Stranger Things characters would dress up for a Halloween party.

Counselors: Argyle, Robin, Jonathan, Billy, Steve, Eddie, & Nancy

Genre: Fluff, Headcanon, Request

Warnings: Couple of swears, Mentions of drinking and drinking games, Mentions of weed and cigarettes, Not proofed

Counselor Notes: Thank you @staygoldwriting for the inspo! I was so tired from work today and didn't really know what to write. So incredibly sweet of you send a request <3 I had a lot of fun with this, but some of them were a challenge! I'm really happy with the lil scenarios and costume picks I cam up with :)

Argyle -> Inigo Montoya

Argyle is obsessed with is hair in the most non-vain way possible. He looks at himself and is filled with love by what he sees in the mirror. I just genuinely believe that he loves himself for who he is and cannot wait to see how he grows and changes with time. That leads me to think that he would want to show off his favorite features, and I think one of them would be his hair. Argyle is wooing everyone at the party. "I'm sorry, my lovely lady. I didn't mean to bump into you. Could I get you a drink to win back your favor?" "My good sir! I must say that you look incredibly dashing tonight. I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal you away later." "Have my eyes deceived me, or has the fairest being of all the land graced me with with their presence." Everyone is swooning for this Cali man.

Robin Buckley -> Lydia Deetz

I would absolutely do anything to see Robin with a smudegy eye shadow look and choker necklace. Best part of this, she can just give everyone shit and tease them like usual while saying, "I'm in character. Deal with it or drop dead". She borrows Jonathan's camera for the night and takes snapshots of all the haunting events of the night. And on a free weekend when the film develops and she saves up to get copies of the photos and materials, she makes a mini scrapbooks for the friend group.

Jonathan Byers -> Johnny

You can bet your ass that when he enters the party, Johnathan yells out, "Here's Johnny," with a fake hatchet. And the roaring reaction is so worth all nerves he dealt with when mustering the confidence on the way over. I don't think large parties are his scene, so he wanted to feel comfortable and needed to work with what he's got. Jonathan is a sucker for party games, so he is easily convinced to join whichever vice of the night. Truth or Dare? He loves to pull a prank on some unsuspecting party goer. King's Cup? You do not want to paired up as his "date", because he cannot for the life of him remember all of the rules and you will have to drink almost every time. Pong? Too good, and his favorite trick shot is to bounce it off the wall.

Billy Hargrove -> Johnny Castle

This man just wanted to look hot, and he did it. Brought his leather jacket and mega watt smile, and it was immediate game over for any other guys trying to win the attention. Everyone is asking if he can do the lift, so he spends the most of his night in the back yard indulging all the pretty people who ask. The rest of the night? Either dancing to the Top 100 on the radio for the Spooktacular special, or he's just hanging out with his friends. Billy's trying to slowly allow himself to feel comfortable past his looks around the group, so he figured that a party would be a good middle ground. He could retreat to his flirty facade if he got too overwhelmed, and if he felt himself slipping, Billy could just hang out with one of the group.

Steve Harrington -> Han Solo

This man is a menace. He knows he's good looking. He knows that everyone has eyes for him and Harrison Ford. He knows what he's doing. But in all seriousness, Steve just wants to goof around with his friends. Definitely holds a pretty person "hostage" until their bounty is paid (either in head scratches, alcohol, weed, or cigs- he's not picky). When one of his friends comes into sight, Steve draws his water gun, that he spray painted black to try to make it look similar, and shoots them.

Eddie Munson -> Lost Boy

I think as much as Eddie loves to dress up, he wants to still be himself. So, he'll sort of insert himself into a franchise universe and dress up as if he was a character in it. Eddie loves the Lost Boys since he can see his some of his usual style peek through, but it also gives him a chance to explore a bit more of the glam rock aesthetic as well. And you know he has packets of fake blood to "bite" people and then leave a trail of blood on them. It's his personal goal to get each of his friends by the end of the night. Bonus points if they never realize he's targeting them.

Nancy Wheeler -> Heathers

So I've never seen the movie or musical, but when I think of Nancy- I think of her iconic prep aesthetic. I do think that she would want to stay somewhat in her comfort zone (I personally think she uses her clothes as a mental armor for the day just as Eddie), but she feels encouraged and supported to relax with her friends. She feels safe to experiment. I think she has a ball with her outfit, because she feels comfort and attractive at the same time. She carries around a matching croquette mallet and takes photos with everyone. She also carries a little purse where she manages to convince every party guest to give her something as party cover even though it's not her party, she just like collecting mementos. So she ends up with a bag of bottle caps, scrunchies, matchbooks, little knickknacks.

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dreamingofaizawa · 3 years

Text

Good Kitty

Shouta Aizawa x Chubby! Kitty Hybrid! Fem! Reader

***18+ Fic***

If you are under the age of 18, leave. Thank you.

Warnings: Kitty hybrid reader, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink (?), reader has insecurities, Shouta is soft and lowkey feral?, chubby kink (sorta), reader has a heat for the first time, barely implied virginity loss, a touch of dacryphilia

Word Count: 2.4 k

Author’s Note: This is inspired by @cupcake-rogue ’s fic Not Allowed on the Bed. I got permission to use it as inspo so here we are! Tbh the orignal had me feeling all sorts of feelings because, as a very subby sub that loves to please, I definitely have a praise kink and I WILL CRY if I’m called a bad girl. HOWEVER, Katsuki being the rough-around-the-edges guy he is wanting reader regardless of size made me very happy and warm and fuzzy.

The premise with this is pretty much the same, except I made reader a kitty hybrid...and of course I wrote for Shouta, love of my life he is. I’m such a fucking simp. I’m not the biggest fan of the ending, but this has been sitting in my WIPs for too damn long and it’s decent enough for me to feel ok posting it.

Also, for reference, reader has black fur regardless of hair color. Reader could be blonde, but still have black ears and tail. That’s just the way I’ve chosen to write this for some reason, don’t ask me why, I’m weird like that.

I think this is the first time I’ve written for a hybrid, so cut me a little slack.

Anywho, enjoy~

You can’t remember life outside the shelter. You’d grown up here, the caretakers said they’d found you on the street as a nearly newborn kitten and immediately scooped you up and brought you back here. That was a long time ago. Now you sit, waiting, your hopes for getting adopted diminishing with every passing day.

It’s unfortunate, but you still haven’t been adopted. It’s not that you’re bad, you always behave, you make sure you do. But you’ve overheard time and time again the people that gazed down at you and whispered about how you were too chunky, too big and too squishy for a kitty hybrid. And some even called you bad luck. The pitch black fur on your ears and tail warded off many.

Today was just the same as any other day. Wake up, get fed, wait in your room while potential owners pick and choose not you. Adults and children alike would take chunks out of their time to play with you, but they all left the shelter with another smaller cat. It was nearing bed time now, dinner just finished and the caretakers were about to start closing when the little bell on the front door jingled. Someone had just come in. You ignored it all the same.

Two pairs of footsteps began making their way past rooms, whoever it was that had entered smelled good, like coffee and tree bark. A smooth hum accompanied the caretaker’s voice, it made your ears twitch and tail sway gently. Still, you decided to just curl up in bed and try to sleep. The chance of him adopting you was slim, if it existed at all.

As you lay there your ears pick up their footsteps, the lazy set that dragged familiar, the nearly silent set less so. You listened as they came closer, never stopping as the man strode past each room and peered in the windows. You waited for them to pass right by your room, as they had been, but suddenly the footsteps halted. The caretaker spoke first.

“Y/n? You awake?” You let your eyes flutter open and sat up, tucking your legs under you and sitting up straight. They asked the man if he wanted to go in and see you, and he gave a simple nod. When he entered you finally looked up at him. The first thing you noticed were his eyes, tired and bloodshot with dark circles beneath them, a deep scar curved under his right eye. His long black hair fell around his shoulders, swaying lightly with every measured step he took toward you.

He stopped right in front of you, a large hand stretching out and you give it a small sniff before nudging your head into it, letting him pet your hair and scratch at the base of your ears. It felt nice to be getting attention like this. A small purr sounded in your chest, your tail gently swishing behind you.

“How long have you been here?” His voice is deep and calm, tired even, but it sounds so welcoming. It’s so soothing to your sensitive ears, like a warm blanket. You give a small hum before answering.

“A long time. I don’t remember anything outside this place.” At that he raised an eyebrow, turning to the caretaker with a questioning look.

“Most people look for...specific traits in the cat hybrids. Y/n here is well behaved, a perfect house kitty really,” you purred a bit at the praise, “But she’s a little larger than most. And her black fur wards off the more superstitious.” The man gives a curious hum before looking back down at you.

“Do you want to come home with me, kitty?” The question caught you a little off guard. Nobody really asked the hybrids if they wanted to go with them. You looked over to the caretaker, who nodded their head with a gentle smile, encouraging you to answer. All you could do was give a small nod, and soon you were in the car, on the way to your new home.

He’d told you to call him Shouta. He was nice, always quiet and never got mad. He never smiled, but you supposed that’s just the way he is. He gave you your own room, and always let you rub up on him when you wanted to, taking the opportunity to pet you. Occasionally you got the odd kiss on the forehead when you nuzzled into his neck. Those always made you purr. He never came seeking you out, which was good since there were times you really didn’t want to be touched.

The longer you’re with him the closer you get, and you find yourself doing things you’d never thought to do before. Sometimes you found the floor more comfortable than the couch, and would kneel down and rub up on his leg, your tail wrapping around his ankle. There were times you’d see his fingers idly drumming on his lap, and you’d lay down and nibble on one with your little fang-like canines. He didn’t seem to mind that little oral fixation, and he always let you do whatever you wanted. All in all, life with Shouta is great.

But today you feel weird. You’d been cooped up in your room for the first hour or so of the weekend morning, not quite wanting to go out and make it known something was off. But it’s gotten abnormally hot, your face and chest especially warm, and between your legs as well. Your panties are beginning to feel damp, your thighs starting to feel humid and sticky. It’s a little uncomfortable. And your tummy is starting to boil, neediness beginning to cloud your mind. This never happened at the shelter.

Reluctantly, you step out of bed onto slightly wobbly legs and peek your head out of your door to see him sitting on the couch, a book in hand and a mug of coffee on the table. His hair is loose, his strong lean body relaxed as he read. The sight of him and his scent made the feeling worse, made your panties and thighs wetter, your chest beginning to heave with your panted breaths.

“Sh-shouta…” Your voice came out shakier and quieter than you wanted it to, but he’d heard you regardless. He closed the book and peered over at your shaking form in the doorway.

“What is it kitty?” You nearly mewled at his voice, his heavenly smooth baritone sending a shiver down your spine through to the tip of your tail.

“Something’s wrong...I feel weird…” As you tell him about everything that’s happening to your body, he’s dragging his eyes over you, taking in every detail. Soon he’s on the phone with the doctor, you can’t quite comprehend his words, only catching snippets. ‘Help’ and ‘how long’, followed by agreeing hums. It was all jumbled after that, your mind refusing to focus as you leaned heavily on the doorframe, your quivering legs barely able to hold your body.

Shouta’s large hand came up and cupped your cheek, letting you nuzzle into his palm. When had he hung up the phone? He ordered you to sit on the bed, and you obliged, watching as he swept up his hair into a loose bun and strode over, tilting your chin to look up at him through half-lidded eyes. He’s so close, his scent overwhelming and making your brain fuzzy.

“You’re in heat, kitty.” Heat...where had you heard that before? Back at the shelter, maybe? It was all a distant, unfocused memory right now. Shouta leaned down and kissed you sweetly, lips melding with yours as you purred and mewled, your tail thrashing behind you. His hands tugged at your clothes until you were bare before him, every inch of you on display.

“You’re such a pretty kitty, you know that? So beautiful. Lay down for me.” The praise made you purr, made a chill crawl up your spine and your tail flick wildly. You obeyed the command, laying flat in the middle of the bed and he slotted himself between your legs, plunging two fingers into your tight hole. He let out a groan, pumping and scicssoring his fingers to stretch you out. You were already a sloppy mess, loud squelches ringing through the room in between your loud, whiny mewls and panting.

It felt so good, the heat in your belly burning and tightening until Shouta’s fingers curled up into a spot that made stars dance in your vision. The pressure in your belly snapped hard, your legs trembling as he kept fingering you through it. His fingers slowed when you whined about it being too much, too sensitive. But you still felt hot all over, now it was worse, you wanted something so bad but you didn’t know what.

He got up and undressed himself and you licked your lips at his naked body, scarred skin pulled taut over thick muscle. What stood between his legs had heat spreading like fire through your body. You’d never seen a naked man before. He was quick to return to you, slotting his hips between your thighs and guiding the thick head of his cock along your soaked folds.

“Relax kitty. I’m gonna make you feel good.” You gave a small nod and then he was pushing his thick cock inside you, groaning at the way your pussy clamped down on him. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth as he slowly pushed and pumped his hips, cock dragging along your wet warm walls perfectly. Mewls slipped past your lips, high pitched whines and pants like music in Shouta’s ears.

His hands wandered over your body, squishing and pulling at every piece of you he could get his calloused fingers on. It made you squirm beneath him, your own hands trying to push his away, but he wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed both your wrists and pinned them above your head in one strong hand, then went right back to groping your body with his free one.

“I can’t have you stopping me from touching you, kitty.” That’s all he said before focusing back on your body. He tugged at your belly, your sides, every place that was fatty and squishy. He’d never admit out loud how much he loved how soft you are. You’re perfect, plump and meaty, just more for him to touch, to look at, more to squeeze and pinch and pull.

He groaned out as you whined beneath him, tears beginning to clump in your lashes because he just kept squeezing, and he isn’t fucking you hard enough. Your orgasm built slowly with his languid pace, not nearly enough to get you to that peak and you were frustrated because you wanted relief but it wouldn’t come. Shouta picks up on your hips jerking and rolling, trying to get him to fucking move faster. He pulled his hips back and slammed back in, setting a brutal pace and making you whine high and long.

Tears begin to fall from the sheer ecstasy of it, and he’s realizing how much he loves to see you cry from the pleasure he can give you. With a groan, he’s releasing your hands and wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face into your breasts and biting and sucking at your skin as he pounds you into the mattress. He isn’t normally an impulsive man, wouldn’t let himself let go like this. But for you. For you he’d give in to his lust and ravage you like you need him to.

Your orgasm slams over your body like a tsunami, your muscles locking up and a loud yip ringing from your throat, pleasure making your whole body shake. Shouta let out a hiss, your nails digging into the muscles in his back furiously, but he wouldn’t stop for that. He never stuttered in his pace, just kept ramming his hips into yours, heavy balls slapping against your ass and lewd squelches coming from where your bodies are connected.

You’re overstimulated, throat feeling raw and tears still falling down your heated cheeks as you thrash from another orgasm, this one just as powerful as the last and making your vision spot black. This time Shouta leans back, wrapping a hand around your throat and licking the salty trails away.

“Such a good little kitty for me, so good.” With a few more thrusts he’s spilling inside you, and you can feel the warmth spread in your belly as you lay there, boneless. He lays down on top of you, both of you sweaty and tired and he starts whispering sweet words into your twitching ears.

“So pretty. You’re so pretty, kitten.”

“Such a good girl for me.”

“You’re all mine, kitty. So good, all for me.” Tears begin to spill from your eyes for a different reason. Up until now you’d lived your life believing nobody wanted you because there was something wrong with you. You never felt ugly, never really felt like there was something truly wrong with you, but you always felt...unwanted. Unloved. Unlovable.

But Shouta makes you feel wanted, and loved, and pretty and all the things you always assumed you didn’t deserve. You’re his kitty now, and you’re such a good kitty for him too. He’s showering you with affection that you’d never known before and you’re shaking from all the overwhelming emotions. He can feel your body quivering, leans back to look at you and cups your face in his warm palm.

“What’s wrong, kitten? Why are you crying?” Your nose twitches as you sniffle, which he mildly notes is fucking adorable.

“Do you mean it? Am I a good kitty?” His eyebrows furrow and he rolls the both of you over so you’re on top of him. He’s peering into your big sad eyes as if reading your soul through them, trying to read the emotions you’re feeling, but it isn’t hard for him to figure out what’s racing through your mind. You nuzzle your nose into his neck and breathe in his scent, his hand coming up to pet your hair and ears.

“Of course, kitten. You’re such a good kitty.” The small reassurance makes you feel warm and happy, your tail flicking softly before curling around both your leg and Shouta’s, the end brushing his skin gently. You can’t help but want to stay with Shouta forever.

#shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa x fem reader #shouta aizawa mha #shouta aizawa bnha #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta #aizawa shouta x fem reader #aizawa shouta mha #aizawa shouta bnha #aizawa mha #aizawa bnha #tw: hybrid #shouta aizawa smut #aizawa shouta smut #aizawa smut

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

Photo

BEHIND THE BAR

RATING: R/smut (sex, heavy alcohol use, lots of cursing, heavy banter)

WORD COUNT: 17.3k (she long and you may need to read on desktop)

CATEGORIES: bartender!y/n, fratboy!harry

a/n: the long awaited bartender!y/n fic has ARRIVED! thank you to my fabulous anons who dreamt up bartender!y/n and made me fall so in love with her and fratboy!harry’s dynamic that i had to write her. she is tattooed, sassy, and full of spunk and i ADORE her. if you need more of her and harry, check out the inspo tag which has all the discourse. concepts for these two are ALWAYS open. s/o to @harrystylescherry, @stellarboystyles, @harrysclementines, @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading and @bfharry for providing harry’s dad joke 😘

“Cheers, Birthday Princess,” you told him, and then you bumped your glass against his, before tipping it back. Harry slammed the glass down on the counter and shook his head as the alcohol coursed through his veins.

Then, he leaned forward on the bar, resting his elbows on the alcohol-covered surface. You tried to keep it clean, but there was no way to keep up with it all. “How about a birthday kiss, Madam Bartender?”

“In your dreams,” you answered, realizing what you had said only after the words left your mouth.

Harry smirked, a dimple poking out. “We’ve already talked about dreams, Y/N. You know you’re already in them, so no need to beg for it.”

Y/N is a bartender and Harry’s obsessed with her

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

In hindsight, perhaps taking a job as a bartender at the campus bar as a freshman wasn’t your smartest idea. You had to spend most of your weekend nights behind the bar trying to hear orders from slurring frat boys ordering the cheapest beer on tap and got shit tips because apparently your classmates didn’t care about tipping their bartenders. But at the same time, it was a great way to always drink for free and make friends, both with the other bartenders and with students who frequented the bar, as well as the neighborhood regulars earlier in the evening.

The thing you loved most about it, though, was the power you held behind the bar. It was your space, space where you made the rules and could throw out any person who messed with you. Which, as a stunningly gorgeous 21-year-old girl serving alcohol at a popular bar, happened plenty. You and Mike, the bouncer who usually shared shifts with you, had a hand signal that you could give him whenever someone was causing problems, and he would happily come to the bar and throw out whatever obnoxious man was giving you trouble. You frequently considered that Mike actually enjoyed throwing people out of the bar.

It was a Saturday night, the busiest night of the week and nearing one AM. The bar was packed, bodies pushing past one another to get to the bar, girls drumming their fingers on the fake wood counter. Tendrils of your long black hair stuck to the back of your neck, the result of constantly being on the move from the moment the rush hit until the bar closed. A cropped black tank top stuck to your skin, the sliver of skin between the hem of the shirt and the top of your black skinny jeans not enough to keep your body cool. Your ponytail swung back and forth as you moved, winding around Matt, the other bartender tonight, with ease. The two of you usually shared shifts, both being students and having the same availability. Generally, he was a good guy, taking the drunk guys so you didn’t have to deal with them and always making sure people didn’t give you trouble. The one downside to Matt, though, was his frat brothers. They appeared every shift without fail, bringing with them chaos and an inordinate amount of drink orders. They loved to annoy you, asking you the contents of every fancy drink they could think of and asking about your love life.

Tonight, it seemed, was no different.

You noticed the minute they entered the bar, a collection of t-shirts, a couple of jerseys you despised, and a button down shirt or two, all of them talking and yelling at each other. “Matt, your fan club is here!” You called down the bar, and Matt laughed as he grabbed the vodka off the wall to make a drink for two girls that were staring at him with wide eyes.

You grabbed two shot glasses and the handle of tequila from where you’d left it below the bar. “Salt and limes?” You asked the girls who had ordered the shots. They were most definitely not twenty-one, but then again, serving underage college students was how the bar made any business. The girls nodded, and so after you had poured the shots, you grabbed the salt shaker and two cut limes, pressing the limes into the rim of the glasses and pushing all the items across the bar. One of the girls handed you her card and you heard the words “Keep it open!” over Taste by Tyga and Offset that was blaring in the bar. It was your playlist, one that you’d perfectly curated for the bar with input from the other bartenders, and you were pretty proud of it.

After swiping the girl’s card and adding it to the stack of open tabs, you whirled back around to take the next customer. The sight of his brown curly mop and gleaming green eyes made you sigh—it was Harry. He, frankly, was a bit obsessed with you, but he was Matt’s little so you let it slide. Also, Harry’s attention didn’t make your skin crawl, instead it made your belly clench and witty comebacks fall easily from your mouth. The two of you had settled into a consistently flirtatious banter and you didn’t mind it, frankly. Sometimes, it was the highlight of your night.

The first time you ever met Harry, you noticed him long before he finally spoke to you. He was sitting at a booth not too long after your shift started, so it wasn’t super busy yet. He had caught your eye because he wouldn’t stop staring at you and he had a weird bandana wrapped up in his hair. (Or was it even a bandana? Maybe a scarf? You couldn’t be sure.) It wasn’t the creepy kind of stare that made you call the bouncer over, but the kind that made you blush against your every attempt not to. When Matt came in, a bit late as usual, Harry beelined to the bar, sitting down in front of him.

“Y/N, this is Harry,” Matt had said, grabbing the bottle of Jack from the wall and pouring some in a glass, then adding Coke to it before pushing the glass towards Harry. “He’s my little.”

You leaned onto the bar, the surface still dry since it wasn’t packed yet. “I was waiting for you to say hi. Saw you staring for the past fifteen minutes.”

The blush that rose to Harry’s cheeks made you smile at him, and Matt chuckled. “Staring isn’t nice, H.”

“Wasn’t staring,” Harry mumbled. “Just watching you make drinks.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Have you never seen a bartender before?”

“No, fuck,” he said to himself and you internally grinned at making him a bit embarrassed. He was easy to mess with, especially now that you had confirmed that he had, in fact, been watching you. “You’re just good at it.”

You looked to Matt. “He thinks I make good drinks,” you informed your co-worker. “What do you think, Harry? Am I better than your big?”

Harry could tell he had dug himself into a hole, his eyes sweeping between you and Matt. “I—I don’t know—maybe?” Matt’s eyes widened and Harry stumbled over his words, trying to correct course. “No, no, Matt’s better. Matt is definitely better.”

You leaned forward a bit more, inching closer to Harry. “Thought you said I was good at it?”

You could feel his eyes drift to where your cleavage was exposed from the deep-v of your black t-shirt. “You are.”

“So which one of us is better?”

“You.”

Matt groaned and you moved away, a triumphant grin on your face. “Not fair,” Matt said. “Harry’s got a crush on you, of course he’d say you’re better!”

Harry choked on his drink and you raised your eyebrows at him. “A crush, huh?”

“Shit,” Matt said. “I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

You bumped your hip against his. “It’s ok, Matty boy. I figured that out when he wouldn’t stop staring at me.”

Harry blushed and you moved away, tending to the other customers at the bar.

That night had begun the back-and-forth between you and Harry, a playful dynamic of flirtation and jokes that usually left you triumphant and Harry blushing at the bar. He kept showing up early and Matt would tell you things like “Oh, he’s just coming by to drop off my charger” or “He just wants to chat.” All of them were excuses for Harry to be in the bar with just you, Matt, and a couple of customers, him having your relatively undivided attention. He’d tell you terrible jokes and ask you questions about your classes or family, most of which you ignored. You never asked him questions back, just let him talk and you listened, although you pretended like you didn’t, because you didn’t want to encourage him.

The truth was, though, you didn’t mind him. You kind of looked forward to those conversations. When he got really drunk he was a bit more annoying, repeating your name until you finally paid attention to him, only for him to say nothing except “You’re cute” or something along those lines. He entertained you, at least, and that was more than could be said for most of the patrons.

Tonight, it seemed, was no different than usual. “Y/N!” He said, shoving himself between two people who had managed to snag one of the green vinyl covered bar stools. His hair was messy, perhaps a bit sweaty, and he was swearing a black t-shirt, a silver chain tucked under his shirt. You could immediately tell he was decently drunk already, based on the glassy expression in his eyes and the grin on his face. “Want to hear a joke?”

You wiped off the bar with the towel over your shoulder before answering him. “Sure.”

“What did the therapist say when a naked man wrapped in cling film went into their office?”

“I don’t know,” you answered, resting your hands on the bar and looking at him dead on. “What did they say?”

Harry was grinning at you, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Clearly I can see your nuts.”

You groaned and Harry just guffawed. “Harry, that was horrible.”

“You just have no sense of humor.”

“Says the guy making jokes like that,” you shot back. “Now, what do you want?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet. “Five fireball shots.”

You had to take a second before replying because the thought of a fireball shot makes you want to vomit. The combination of the cinnamon flavor and the burn it sent down your throat was one you hated, but it seemed Harry enjoyed it. “Really, Harry? Fireball?”

“What? It’s good!”

You shook your head, but grabbed shot glasses, laying them out in a line on the bar. “You’re insane.” You turned, grabbed the bottle of Fireball, and then returned to him.

“Make it six,” he said, slashing you a smirk.

“If it’s for me I am not drinking it.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty of fun,” you told him, cocking your hip. “And I have good taste in alcohol.”

“Y/N, please,” he begged, pouting slightly for you.

Sometimes he was such a child, you thought as you gave in, grabbing another shot glass. “Fine,” you told him. “But this is the only time.” He grinned at you, and you just poured the shots, drawing a line down the glasses with the alcohol.

He snagged one of the shot glasses and you took one at the end. “Cheers,” he said, lifting his shot, and you did the same, knocking the glasses together enough for a clink to ring out.

You tipped the shot back, letting the burn of the cinnamon whiskey fall down your throat. You swallowed, dropped the shot glass to the counter, and looked to Harry. He was grinning, his empty shot glass on the bar. “Satisfied?”

“Very.” Then he picked up the shots, holding them together in his two massive hands, his rings clinking against the glass. You watched him walk away, his shirt disappearing into the throng of people, and then your attention was caught by another patron, asking you for a Long Island iced tea that made you laugh once you had turned away from them.

The night passed with many empty bottles of vodka and gin, the drinks of choice for all the girls who came up to the bar, and you nearly ran out of Budweiser, since it was on tap and the cheapest beer. You were bopping your head along with your playlist, Piece Of Your Heart by MEDUZA ringing through the speakers. The electronic music was supposed to help keep your energy up, but it was three AM and you were beginning to tire, the whiskey and coke you made yourself doing little to keep you going.

People were starting to filter out of the bar, groups heading to get a late night snack or head home. You were thankful for it—if you could start cleaning before official close you would be happy, perhaps being able to get home sooner.

“Can I get another whiskey coke?” You turned and Harry was sitting in a barstool at the bar, right in front of you.

You nodded, grabbing a glass and the handle of whiskey. “Where’d all your friends go?”

“They left.” He drummed his fingers against the wood, the light of the bar catching on the silver of his rings. You were a bit fascinated by them, if you were being honest. Why he wore them, where they came from, what they meant. The same questions rang in your head in reference to the tattoos that littered his arms and peeked out from under his shirt.

“You didn’t go with?” You pushed his drink towards him and returned the jack to its spot on the wall.

He shook his head, taking a sip of the drink you made him. “I was going to wait for Matt.”

You raised your eyebrows and then nodded towards where Matt was leaning over the bar, talking to some girl whose drink had long since been emptied. “I think he’s already got someone waiting for him.”

Harry looked to where Matt was and then shrugged, before turning his gaze back to you. “Guess I’ll just hang out with you, then.”

“Oh really?” You took some empty glasses off the bar where people had left them and dropped them into the bucket under the bar to be taken back to get cleaned.

“You’re more interesting than him anyway.”

You laughed, grabbing an empty shot glass and putting it in the bucket. “And why is that?”

“You’re hot.” He didn’t even pause before he replied.

He licked across his bottom lip after he said it and you couldn’t help but watch the action. It wasn’t like you didn’t know Harry thought you were attractive—you did. It was just that he had never outright told you, or been quite this forward. Usually he was skating around the topic and now that he wasn’t you didn’t quite know what to say. So you said the first thing that popped into your head. “Have you been behind a bar?”

“Only at the house.”

“Your frat house does not count as a bar.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“It is not a bar, Harry.”

“Fine. Then no, I haven’t.”

You took a step away from him and waved your hand at the space. “Would you like to?”

This time, it was him raising his eyebrows at you. “What am I going to be doing?”

“I’ll teach you to make drinks.”

“I know how to make drinks,” he scoffed.

“Jungle juice doesn’t count.”

He huffed and then pushed away from the bar, standing to his full height. “You’re being mean,” he stated, but walked to the end of the bar and came around the side anyways. “It feels so different from back here.”

You turned, one hand on the bar and the other on your hip. “What do you mean?”

“Dunno. Feel…powerful, I guess.”

You nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. “So, Mr. Bartender, what do you want to make first?”

Harry considered his options, looking around the bar and taking in the options in front of him. He looked a bit overwhelmed, if you were honest. You glanced around, checking on how busy it was, and you were thankful that it was pretty much empty, so no one would probably be bothering you and Harry. “I’ve always wanted to make an Old Fashioned.”

“Can do,” you answered, grabbing the proper glass from the shelf, and a bottle of your favorite bourbon, setting both on the counter in front of you. “Do you know what’s in one?” He shook his head, a slight blush on his cheeks, and you smiled to yourself. He could be so goddamned cute sometimes. “It’s whiskey, bitters, and a bit of sugar. Do you know how to muddle?” He shook his head again, and you nodded, grabbing the rest of the supplies you would need.

You spread it out in front of you, popping a sugar cube in the old fashioned glass. “So this is the bitters we’re going to use,” you informed him, passing him the bottle of Angostura bitters. “Put two dashes of that in the glass over the sugar.”

“What the fuck is a ‘dash’?”

“A bit,” you told him. “Just do it.”

He did as you asked, tapping bitters into the glass. “Is that enough?”

You nodded, and then grabbed the soda gun and pressed the button for water, adding a bit to the glass. Then, you passed him the muddler, which got very little use at this bar. In fact, you hadn’t made an Old Fashioned in ages—it wasn’t exactly the drink of choice for most college-aged people. “Now, you’re going to muddle this—like mix them together, crushing the sugar.”

“Why does mixology have the weirdest terms?” He said under his breath and you snorted. He did as you said, listening to your instructions, crushing the sugar and mixing it with the bitters in the glass, the sugar dissolving in the glass.

“Good. Now you add the ice.”

You pulled back the top of the cooler that held the ice, and Harry grinned as he picked up some with the scooper and filled the glass with it. “Always wanted to do that.”

“And now you have.” You shut the top of the cooler and passed him the bourbon and a jigger. “An ounce and a half of bourbon,” you informed him.

He reached over and took the bottle and jigger, and his close proximity made you inhale. You could smell cologne, a bit of sweat from the party he was at earlier, and a trace of smoke as he moved. The scent had your spine straightening, your mind just as muddled as the contents of the glass. How did he smell so good? He was a college boy. Who gave him the right to be so goddamned attractive and smell this delicious? His long hair, the length not quite reaching his shoulders but close, swung slightly in your face as he pulled away, the tips of his curls brushing against your cheek. He was so close that if he turned his head, your lips would meet.

You tried not to think about that.

But he lingered close to you as he poured the bourbon in the jigger, your sides nearly touching, just half a step away from one another. If the music hadn’t been playing, you probably would’ve been able to hear him breathe and he could’ve heard your breath hitch when his bicep flexed as he held the bourbon. Your eyes trailed over the tattoos on his arms, dancing over the ship and the rose at his elbow, all the way down to the anchor at his wrist.

“Now you’re the one watching me.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, where he was looking at you, smirking. “Pour the shot in, Harry.”

He looked back to the jigger he was holding, and tipped it into the glass, the amber liquid dropping through the glass. You handed him the stirrer and he twirled it in the glass, before setting it back down on the bar. The sound of his rings hitting the glass sounded in your ears as he grasped the drink, bringing it to his lips.

His eyes were on yours as he tipped it back slightly, letting the alcohol pass between his lips. You tried not to focus on his Adam’s apple bobbing as he sipped. When he lowered the glass, his tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip, and it made you tug your own into your mouth softly. Then you asked, “How is it?”

With his gaze trained on your mouth, he answered, “Delicious.”

“Y/N!” Your head bounced up to see Mike darting his head inside. “Time for close.”

You looked up at the clock on the wall and realized he was right—more time had passed than you realized. “Shit—yeah, sorry Mike. Matt,” you called down the bar to your co-worker who was very caught up in his flirtation. “Will you kick all of these people out for me?”

“Even me?” Harry asked and you roll your eyes at him.

“You can stay,” you told him and he gave you a smile, taking another sip of his drink. “As long as you help me clean up.”

While Matt kicked the remaining stragglers out, making sure the ones that are too drunk get in an Uber, you and Harry cleaned up. He helped you flip chairs on top of tables and pick up the glasses littered across surfaces, even in the bathroom. You filled the bin with the glasses and took them into the kitchen, filling the industrial dishwasher to the brim. He even took a rag and wiped down the tables, singing along to the Tame Impala you’d turned on and finishing off his Old Fashioned. You put the bitters away and the remnants of the drink he had made, and toss some lime rinds into the trash, wiping off the last bit of the bar.

“I’m going to head out,” Matt called to you from the door. He’s got his arm wrapped around the girl’s shoulders, a wide smile on both of their faces. “You good, H?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to walk Y/N home.”

This was news to you. “I drove,” you replied.

“Then can I snag a ride?” He asked, and you shrugged. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Also, the idea of making him walk didn’t sound like a good idea, even though the frat house wasn’t too far from the bar.

“Sure.” You grabbed your purse and leather jacket from where you’d stashed them under the bar, and pulled them on. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You waved goodbye to Mike, who was left to lock up, and walked around back to where your car was parked. It was a must have for you, not wanting to walk home at four in the morning after a long night of working. Plus, you never drank much while you worked—all you had had was that disgusting Fireball shot earlier in the night and a whiskey coke throughout the evening. Harry followed behind you, his hands in his pockets as he walked, the faint light from the street lamp illuminating the sidewalk leading to the parking lot.

“It’s dark,” he said when you turned into the lot.

You unlocked your car and turned to look at him. “It’s four AM. Of course it’s dark.”

He moved towards the car, pulling open the passenger side door. “No, I just mean that it’s dark for you to be walking to your car alone.”

“Oh.” You tossed your purse into the backseat and slid into the driver’s side, flipping on the ignition. “Matt or Mike walk me to my car most nights.”

His long legs ended up a bit cramped in the passenger seat of your car and it made the corner of your mouth turn up. “Good,” is all he said before pulling on the seatbelt and clicking it. You reversed out of the spot, your phone automatically connecting to the Bluetooth as you flipped on your turn signal. “That’s the wrong way.”

You turned and looked at him. “Don’t you live at the house?”

He shook his head though. “No, I’ve got an apartment with some brothers on the West side of campus. Take a left here.”

You absorb this information and switch the turn signal. “Why don’t you live there? I thought most people did.”

“I like the privacy, I guess. When you live with all your brothers, they tend to know every bit of your business.” He was looking out the front windshield and you did the same, eyes on the dark streets in front of you. Being this close to him in the car had your body temperature spiking a bit, although you wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. Harry was just the boy who flirted with you every chance he got and was Matt’s little. He was just someone to entertain you on slow nights or when you were stressed. Right?

“Take a left at the light,” he said, breaking you out of your trance. You flicked on your turn signal and eased into the turn lane, swinging your car onto a side street. “I’m having a birthday party next weekend at the house if you want to come,” he suddenly said.

Your eyes bounced to Harry, who wasn’t looking at you, his palms resting on his knees. You could sense the tension in his body—was he nervous? Did you make him nervous? “Is it your 21st?”

He quirked a smile at that. “How’d you know?”

“Well, you’re a junior. I just assumed.” Matt also might’ve mentioned it once or twice, but you didn’t tell Harry that.

A blush crept across his cheeks. “I—uh—it’s on Saturday at nine. We’re hitting the bars after, but the thing at the house is just going to be brothers and drinks and some music. Pretty low-key, I think.”

“I’ve got work,” you told him. “But I’ll try and stop by before my shift. I’m not supposed to be there until ten.”

He nodded quickly and you tried not to think about the fact that Matt was never going to let you live this down. What were you even doing, saying yes to Harry? You weren’t even interested in him. He was just a boy to flirt with, someone who told you bad jokes and ordered Fireball shots. “It’s right up here,” he said, pointing to a house off to the right.

You slowed the car in front of a one-story bungalow, a couple of cars in the driveway and lawn chairs on the front lawn. “You live in a house?”

“Somehow it was actually cheaper,” he explained, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Plus, kind of nice not having people complaining about the noise.”

The area was definitely still on campus, but you didn’t know anyone who lived over here. “Are your neighbors all students too?”

He nodded. “Some other brothers have a place a couple houses down, there’s a house of Pi Phis over there. But yeah, it’s all students. On game days it’s a fucking mess.”

You put the car in park, and turned off the ignition. “I can imagine.” Harry didn’t make any moves to get out of the car, just sitting there staring at the dashboard of your old Toyota, his hands fidgeting on his thighs. “Harry?”

“Fuck,” he exhaled, catching his bottom lip in his teeth. “I...” Then he glanced over at you, and under the dim streetlamp you could see the expression in his eyes. It’s one you knew well. It’s the look he gave you when you wore your favorite lace bodysuit that was conservative enough to wear out, or when you gave him just as flirtatious of a comeback as the one he served you.

Then, all of a sudden he was moving towards you, his hand curving around the back of your neck and pulling you towards him. It was awkward, the seatbelt holding back your shoulder, but it didn’t stop you from leaning towards him, meeting him halfway. His lips tasted like bourbon and bitters, a trace of Fireball when you nibbled on his bottom lip that was just tucked between his teeth. He was sweet with an edge of fire, and when he tilted his chin slightly to change the angle, rotating his head just enough to kiss you deeper, you knew you were fucked.

For so long, you had been trying to keep him at a distance. Just let him exist as a flirtation, nothing more than that. You’d ignored the thoughts that blazed through your mind when you were drunk with your friends and saw him at a party, his lips on some girl, and you wondered what they would taste like on yours. Now that he was kissing you and you knew what they tasted like, there was no way you would be able to forget.

Especially the way his fingers threaded through your hair, his rings cool against your warm scalp. How he tugged on your lip with his teeth and you let out a soft whine, pulling him closer by the neck of his shirt. The fact that it was nearing four thirty in the morning and you were in your car making out, your seatbelt still on, didn’t seem to matter. The exhaustion that had been all-consuming earlier was gone, your body rushing with adrenaline from the feeling of his mouth tucked against yours, his hands on your skin and the way his lips searched for yours when you pulled away for air.

“I should go home,” you said, breathing heavily as you moved back into your seat.

Harry was looking at you intensely, his lips slick from your saliva, his cheeks flushed from kissing you. His hands still lingered on your neck and hip, and you weren’t ready for him to let go. However, you needed sleep, otherwise the rest of the day was not going to be pretty. You had a paper due on Tuesday you had to write and if that didn’t happen this afternoon after you slept you were fucked. “Yeah,” he finally answered, pulling away. “It’s late.” He shuffled in the seat, turning to push open the door. “Get home safe, okay?”

You nodded, and with one lingering look at you, Harry slid out of the car and shut the door behind him. Under the dim lights you watched him walk to his front door, pulling open the screen door and unlocking it. Once he was inside, you finally turned back on your car and put it in drive, peeling away from the curb without a glance back.

On Tuesday, you were knee-deep in edits for your paper when your phone screen lit up with a text. Despite the fact that you told yourself you would be ignoring any notifications that flashed across your screen, you were intrigued by this message because it was from a number you didn’t recognize. So you leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair you were sitting in (chosen to make sure you stayed awake) and grabbed your phone.

The sight of the message made you choke on air.

Hey, Y/N, this is Harry. Matt gave me your number, I hope that’s ok?

That was it. The whole message. What the fuck were you supposed to do with that? “Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, because now you couldn’t ignore it. You had your read receipts on, something you turned on one time when you were breaking up with an ex and wanted him to know that you were ignoring his messages on purpose, and never turned off. So now Harry knew you had read his message.

So you typed back, hey! what’s up?

The typing dots appeared and you had the sudden urge to throw your phone halfway across the room as you waited for his reply. But you didn’t, because Harry’s text popped through before you could take any actions to make it seem as though you weren’t staring at your phone waiting for his text.

Just wanted to say thanks for the ride home on Saturday. Then, in a separate message, Also, the invite for my birthday party still stands, but no pressure.

You nibbled on the edge of your thumb nail, your other thumb poised over the screen as you considered what to reply. You decided on coy. i'll see how it goes :) you wrote out, and then thumbs up reacted to his thank you text.

Looking forward to it is what he replied with, and that felt like the end of the conversation, so you locked your phone, turned it on Do Not Disturb, and tried to re-focus on the paper open on your computer screen.

It took everything in your body not to check your phone a couple more times, just to see if he’d kept the conversation going. You had no idea what to say to him—he was the one who texted you in the first place. It seemed like his job to keep the conversation going, not yours. So you let the conversation linger, not even saving his number in your phone.

When Saturday rolled around, you considered for a long time whether or not you were going to go to Harry’s birthday party. Matt had texted you too, combining the text with a notice that he wasn’t working that night and Lucy was covering his shift, which meant you were going to be doing all the heavy lifting. Lucy was a freshman, new to bartending, and most definitely was hired so she would be ready to replace you when you graduated next year. The fact that Matt texted you told you that Harry must really want you to come, even if it was just for a bit.

So you turned on your getting ready playlist and grabbed your favorite bodysuit—it was long sleeved and high necked with a mesh leopard print, meaning that when you wore your black bralette underneath it, it would show through. It was enough to get eyes on you (you could neither confirm nor deny if you specifically meant Harry’s eyes), but not too much that you felt completely exposed, thanks to the long sleeves. You grabbed your black jeans, even though in an ideal world you would’ve chosen your leather skirt instead, but the last thing you wanted was alcohol stuck to your legs all night or some asshole seeing up your skirt when you bent over for ice.

You kept your makeup simple, but in line with the outfit—a light smokey eye, eyeliner, and a tinge of a deep red to your lips. Rhea, your roommate, let you use her dry shampoo, so you sprayed it at your roots, giving your day-old hair some revival. With a pair of gold hoops and a pep talk, you were ready, your phone and wallet slipped into the pocket of your trusty leather jacket.

You had never been to a frat house when you couldn’t hear the music pounding from outside. But as you walked up the grassy front lawn to the KDR house, it seemed quiet—all the lights on, even. You rapped on the door twice, running your hand through your hair as you waited for the door to open. When it did, a guy was standing there who you were pretty sure you recognized from the bar—he was close with Matt and Harry, you thought.

“You’re the bartender, Y/N!” He said, pointing at you with his index finger, lifting it from the red solo cup he held in his hand.

“I am,” you replied. “Harry and Matt invited me.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, and you tried not to read into that too much. “Come on in, I’m Caleb, Harry’s little.” And that, you realized, was why he was always hanging out with Harry and Matt. You followed Caleb down the hall, which had composite photos on the wall going back to the 70s and 80s. It was weird being inside the house with all the lights on, because you could actually see everything for the first time. You saw what was usually a coat room and discovered it was actually a study of sorts, bookshelves with textbooks and random course books lining the shelves and a couple of old leather chairs in the corner that you usually stashed your jacket on.

He turned into the long living room and kitchen, which was where most of the parties happened in their house, and you were met by a pong table and a collection of boys, many of whom you recognized from the bar. Your eyes scanned over the group, and you found that you were, unsurprisingly, one of four girls in attendance. The others were next to brothers, an arm slung around their shoulders. You found Matt and Harry easily in the crowd, Matt saying something to Harry with his palm pressed to Harry’s chest, his other hand gripping a can of Natty Light. How he could drink such watered down piss while being a bartender you didn’t know and you quickly decided you would be ragging on him for it the next time you worked together.

“Bartender girl!” One of the guys called out, and that made Harry and Matt’s heads immediately swivel towards where you were standing. The discomfort that had been lingering was suddenly there in full force. You hated being the center of attention, something most people never expected since you thrived at the bar. The key part of being a bartender, though, was you had the bar between you and the patrons. It was a safety net, something that gave you power and confidence. Without it, though, you felt naked in a situation like this.

The sight of a tiara on Harry’s head, though, immediately made you feel more at ease. The words Birthday Princess were printed on the tiara in bright pink writing, and the sight of it resting in Harry’s hair brought a smile to your face.

Matt immediately broke into a grin and widened his arms, which you rolled your eyes at. “Y/N! You made it!”

You walked over to him, having nothing else to do, but didn’t give him a hug. “Barely. I can’t stay long—I’m supposed to be there at 10 so Lucy doesn’t kill someone with her heavy handed pouring.”

He chuckled, and then gave Harry a clap on the back. “I’m going to go check on the beer. Have fun, H.”

It left you and Harry alone—or as alone as you could be in a crowded room. Your eyes roamed his body, the black silky shirt drawing in your eyes, white stitching that spelled out his last name on the chest, the way it was unbuttoned low. It was the first time you’d been able to see his tattoos—the edges of what seemed to be wings on his collarbones that you wanted to see the rest of, and a silver chain with a cross hanging on it lying on his chest. You could feel his eyes on you too, and steeled yourself under his gaze, trying to remain confident as you stood in front of him.

“Nice tiara,” you said, breaking the silence.

He blushed, reflexively reaching up to touch it. “I was hoping you didn’t notice.”

“It’s literally a bright pink tiara on your head, Harry, how could I not notice?”

“Matt and Caleb made me wear it. My other little, Tyler, bought it and insisted.”

“Can’t let the family down?” You said, the corners of his lips lifting.

“Guess not.” A silence fell between you again and you busied yourself by investigating the space you were in. The worn couches on the wall, a massive dining table with alcohol covering it, dishes in the sink and a stack of red solo cups on the counter. It seemed like exactly what you would expect from a fraternity house, even if there wasn’t a party going on. Finally, he cleared his throat and thickly asked you, “Want to play pong?”

You blinked, not expecting the question, but shrugged. “Sure.”

“I’ll drink any you don’t want to,” he said.

“Why? Think I’m not any good?”

“No—I just—you drove, right?” He was stumbling over his words and it made you give him a small smile. You decided to be a bit of a tease, and brushed your fingers over the stitches on his shirt, just to mess with his brain a bit.

“I did,” you answered. “But I don’t think I’ll be drinking too much.”

His eyes widened a tad and you watched as he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Let’s see your skills, then,” he finally said and you followed him over the table, where they were setting up for another round. He set down his cup on the side of the table and you fiddled with the cups, making the lines straighter. “Ready?” He asked you, his body shifting closer to yours. There was just a hair of space between your hips and you sucked in a breath before nodding.

You hadn’t thought this through, you quickly realized, because pong meant that there was barely any space between the two of you, and he kept brushing against your back and arm as he moved around. When he passed you the ball his fingers touched yours and your eyes would flit to his, only to find his green irises looking right back. The scent of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath wrapped around you when he laughed close to your ear, the contact of his skin on yours when he gave you a high five and lightly gripped your hand for just a beat too long sent shivers down your spine. When he picked up a cup to drink from it, you watched as his lips—the ones you had kissed exactly a week ago—wrapped around the rim and the beer slid down his throat. You were actively trying not to think about kissing down the column of his neck as you looked back to your cups on the other side of the table.

“Can I get gentlemen’s?” You asked and next to you, Harry nodded, agreeing with your decision to re-rack. The guys playing you quickly reshuffled your cups and you dropped the beer-covered ball into a cup of water to your right. When you picked up the ball and rolled it between your fingers, you decided to tease Harry a bit more, because it was your favorite pastime. You offered the ball to him, clasped between your thumb and forefinger, and looked him dead in the eyes. “Blow on it for good luck?”

His eyes widened, but then a cocky grin drifted across his cheeks. He leaned in and blew softly on the white pong ball, his pupils dark and focused on yours. Then, at a volume only you could hear, he whispered, “Sure you don’t want me to blow something else?”

Rather than give him the satisfaction of knowing he had your pulse stuttering, you licked your lips and replied with, “Let’s see if you’re so cocky when I’m on my knees.” You turned back to the cups and with ease, you threw the ball as it sank into a cup. You peeked a glance up at Harry, only to find him already staring at you, blinking in rapid succession. “Your turn, Styles.” You grabbed the other ball and pressed it to the stitching on his chest and his lips quirked up, snatching the ball from your grasp.

“Kiss for good luck?” Your eyebrows lifted at his words and he was smiling at you, a cocky gaze fixed on you.

“In your dreams,” you answered with an eye roll.

“Oh, baby, you’re already in them,” he whispered as he tossed the ball. It hit the rim of your one remaining cup before falling in perfectly.

His words rang loudly in your ears as Harry raised his arms above his head in success, ignoring the words he just had said to you. You, however, couldn’t say the same. They were running through your head on a loop. He dreamt about you? You wanted to know more, wanted to know every bit of his dreams, what they looked like and what you did in them.

At the sound of your name you blinked, pushing yourself out of your daydreams. “Yeah?”

It was Harry, his palm resting on your lower back and burning the skin with his touch. “It’s almost ten.”

“Fuck,” you breathed out, pulling your phone from your jacket. “I—shit I have to go. Sorry.”

He shook his head. “S’fine. I’ll walk you to the door.”

You waved goodbye to your opponents and some of the other boys you had been introduced to. Harry’s hand left your body as you both walked, and you couldn’t help but be disappointed. “Happy Birthday, by the way,” you said as you turned into the hallway, the chatter of the boys over the music fading a bit.

Harry dug his hands into his pockets and smiled at you. “Thank you. And thanks for coming. It—it was nice, having you here.”

The softness in his tone was in direct conflict with the banter at the pong table, but you didn’t mind. You kind of liked that the two of you had this duality, the ability to go each direction. “I had fun.” You pulled your car keys out of your pocket and turned the knob on the door. “I’ll have a birthday Fireball shot waiting with your name on it, Birthday Princess.”

That made his smile turn into a grin, his dimples popping out as you stepped across the threshold and onto the front porch. “Looking forward to it, love.”

As you walked away, you tried not to let his term of endearment fill your every thought, but it was hard, especially when you looked back and he was standing in the doorway, watching you walk to your car. You exhaled and opened the driver’s side door, realizing that you had dug yourself into quite the mess with this boy.

You had been watching the door out of the corner of your eye all night, waiting for Harry and all of his friends to arrive. Lucy had noticed and pestered you about it, but you hadn’t given in. You didn’t feel like the entire bar staff knowing your personal business—Matt was plenty. You busied yourself by serving patrons, making an absurd number of vodka tonics (which you despised, but you had found freshman girls preferred them to gin, for some reason) and opening bottle after bottle of beer.

You were humming along to Broken Clocks by SZA when the door opened and your name was called over the bar, Matt’s voice booming in the space. “Y/N, I need a shot for the birthday boy!” Harry was standing next to him, Matt’s arm thrown over his shoulder, a grin on his face.

You turned and quickly queued In Da Club by 50 Cent, before grabbing the bottle of Fireball off the shelf. When you turned back to the bar, Harry was standing in front of you, the Birthday Princess tiara unfortunately absent. “Where’s your crown, Birthday Princess?” You asked, pouring the dark liquid into a shot glass for him.

“It’s a tiara, Y/N,” he corrected, snatching the shot. “And Caleb accidentally broke it.” You could tell by the twinkle in his eyes and the color in his cheeks that he was more than a few drinks in, no doubt doing shots with the rest of the party before hitting the bars.

“Good to know,” you answered, and just because he was so goddamned cute, you grabbed another shot glass and poured yourself a shot of Fireball.

“Takin’ a shot with me?”

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

Harry was about to say something when the music changed and he let out a cheer, Matt and Caleb and another boy, who you assumed was Tyler, pounded on the bar on either side of him. Then, they began to sing and you could help but guffaw.

“Go, go, go, go go, go, go, shawty/It's your birthday/We gon' party like it's yo birthday/We gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday/And you know we don't give a fuck/It's not your birthday!” They sang, and you couldn’t help but join in at the end.

“Shots, shots, shots!” Matt cheered, and Harry lifted his shot glass, raising his eyebrow at you.

“In your dreams,” you answered, realizing what you had said only after the words left your mouth.

Harry smirked, a dimple poking out. “We’ve already talked about dreams, Y/N. You know you’re already in them, so no need to beg for it.”

You rolled your eyes at him and pushed lightly on his cheek, a pout settling onto his lips. “Shut up, Styles.”

“Meanie,” he said, moving back to rest normally against the bar. “You have to be nice to the birthday boy, didn’t you hear?”

“Not if he’s a prick,” you informed him, resting your hands on the lip of the bar and locking your elbows, leaning slightly forward. “Now, do you guys want anything else, or are you just going to annoy me all night?”

“Four whiskey cokes,” Matt told you. “And make ‘em strong.”

Throughout the night, their group achieved higher and higher levels of drunkenness. They started singing a Cheetah Girls song in their corner booth, much to your enjoyment, and Matt got on the table, something Mike only allowed because he was an employee, and made the entire bar sing Harry Birthday to Harry. When Mamma Mia came on, Tyler—who you were increasingly discovering was pure chaos in a body, perhaps even more chaotic than Harry and Matt combined—tried to start a conga line through the bar. Not only was he stopped by Mike, but also by the sheer number of people packed into the space.

Meanwhile, you were left behind the bar, fielding drink requests and racking up students’ credit cards with drinks they probably would forget ordering in the morning. You even had one Beer Baptism, an exciting element of the night, when some hockey player informed you he has drank every beer on tap, meaning he had achieved his Beer Baptism status. Harry and Matt lost their shit in the corner when you announced it and rang the bell over the bar, before grabbing two full pints of the hockey player’s requested beer of choice—Budweiser, for some fucking reason—and poured it over his head.

After three, the bar had started to empty out, but the four musketeers in the corner were still going strong. Harry kept coming up to you and asking for a shot of this or such and such drink, and even requested to make an Old Fashioned behind the bar again. You told him he was too drunk to make it right, but next time he could. Every time he came up he offered some sexual innuendo or bad joke, a lingering touch on your hand when you passed him his drink, or a wink that left u scowling at him. He even unbuttoned his shirt a few more buttons so by the time it was just him and his lineage in the corner, it was barely even on him. The whole idea of “No shoes, no shirt, no service” was quickly becoming a possible line you could use, especially when he kicked his feet up on the table and Caleb was trying to grab at his boots and pull them off, much to your amusement.

At 3:45, there were no patrons left except for the booth full of boys, so you had Lucy start cleaning up while you grabbed a beer—your first drink of the night other than the shot you did with Harry—and walked over to the boys. Harry was on the end, since he kept on coming and going from the booth, his knees spread wide and one arm slung over the back of the seat. At the sight of you approaching, he straightened up and set his drink down on the table.

“Hey,” he said, drawing out the Y as you slid in next to him, his arm falling easily around your shoulders.

“Hello,” you answered, nudging his knee with yours. “You’re man spreading all over my booth, Styles.”

Tyler snorted and Harry shifted, pulling his knees in closer together. “Didn’t know it was your booth.”

“I work here, you know.”

“I noticed,” he answered, tongue running over his lip as he looked at you. “I like this top you’ve got on.”

You sipped on your beer before replying, “It’s a bodysuit, actually.”

“So I’ve got a genuine question,” Matt said, leaning in towards you from across the table. “How do you pee with that on?”

“It’s got snaps on the crotch.” For some reason Tyler and Caleb blush at the word crotch and it makes you smile internally. “Can be a bitch to take on and off, though.”

“Huh.” Matt leaned his cheek on his palm. “I never fully understood the appeal.”

“Well,” you said, placing your beer on the table. “They tuck into pants and skirts so there’s smooth lines. But also it kind of feels like you’re wearing lingerie.”

That had all the boys blushing, including Harry, who said, “So that’s like lingerie to you?”

You glanced down at the lace long-sleeved bodysuit you wore and shrugged. “Guess so.”

“I always thought lingerie involved less material, not full on sleeves.”

You mulled this over, and decided to push his buttons a bit more. “So is a babydoll not considered lingerie to you?”

His eyebrows scrunched up and if you were being honest, the expression was positively adorable. You wondered if it was the face he gave when he couldn’t figure out a math problem or was looking at IKEA instructions. “The fuck’s a babydoll?”

“Other than a pet name?” You threw back and Harry quirked a smile. “It’s like a…sexy nightgown, I guess you could say.”

“Sexy nightgown.” Harry stated, mulling over the thought in his head, and you watched as he brushed a hand through his hair, considering the concept. “And that would have more material than what you’re wearing right now?”

You shrugged and took another sip of your beer. “Arguably.”

“Then yeah, I guess that’s still considered lingerie. A sexy nightgown, huh?” He blew out a breath of air and looked to the boys across the booth from you. “Damn, the girls I’ve been seeing have been holding out on me.”

The boys laughed, but you wanted Harry’s attention back on you. Maybe it was the close proximity of his body or the smell of his cologne that overwhelmed your senses, or the way you could see the butterfly tattoo on his abdomen and the low rise of his incredibly tight skinny jeans, but you wanted him. Badly.

So you reached down and placed a hand on his thigh, high enough to make his breath catch but not too high where you were actually touching him. Just close enough to make him consider the prospect. “You’ve been picking the wrong girls, then,” you said, the words low in your chest and Harry’s eyes were on you in an instant. Immediately there was movement on the other side of the booth, Tyler, Caleb and Matt sliding out one by one. “Leaving, boys?”

Matt nodded. “H?”

Harry’s eyes hadn’t left your face and the weight of his gaze had your heart pumping a mile a minute. “I think I’m going to stay.”

His fingers moved from the booth seat next to him to cover your hand that rested on his thigh, slowly inching it up his pant leg. “I’ll take him home,” you said, glancing back to Matt. “I’ll let you know when he’s home, okay?”

Matt gave Harry another look, and then nodded, obviously trusting you to take care of his friend. “Let me know if you need anything.” With that, he turned away, waving to Lucy and giving Mike a slap on the back on his way out.

Your attention turned back to Harry, who had somehow slid closer to you on the seat. “What was all that talk about lingerie, hmm?” He asked, the hand that rested next to your shoulder moving to rub the top of your arm, heat surging through your veins at his touch. “You always chew me out for sayin’ shit to you, and then you go and say that. In front of my friends, no less.”

You drummed your fingers on his inner thigh and caught the way he swallowed thickly at the feeling. “I wanted to see what you’d say, I guess.”

“And?”

“I now know you’ve never seen a babydoll. Or nearly enough lingerie.”

He sucked in a breath and then leaned his head down, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “Is that your way of asking me if I’d like to see your collection?”

Your heartbeat was thudding in your ears as he grazed your hair with his nose, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. He had your insides moving in circles like they were on a merry-go-round, consumed in nothing but him. Slowly, you lifted your leg closest to his so it hooked over his knee, tugging yourself closer to him. “Perhaps.”

Under the low lights of the bar, the green of his eyes twinkled at you, your coyness making him grab at your knee, kneading his thumb into your skin over your jeans. “You told Matt you’d take me home.”

“I did.”

“What’s the likelihood we could change the destination on that ride home?”

Your hand moved from his thigh to his torso, skittering over his shirt and tucking against his exposed skin, his butterfly tattoo flexing under your touch. “I could be convinced. What did you have in mind?”

“Your place,” he said, hand squeezing your knee tightly when you scratched his skin softly. “Fuck, Y/N.”

“You’re drunk,” you told him simply.

With a combination of tenderness and need that had you desperate for him, he nudged your temple with his nose and said, “I won’t be in the morning.”

“Is that right?” The feeling of his breath in your ear made you grab at his side, pulling at his skin with your hand, wanting just to feel him in some way. You were sober and yet he had you feeling drunk, drunk on need and desire. “Then come on, Birthday Princess.”

The wood of your front door slammed against your back the second you shut the door behind you, Harry’s body pinning you to the door. His hands tugged on your hips and your hands were in his hair and the sounds falling from your mouth were positively sinful. The way he pulled on your bottom lip and sucked on it, making you press up into his body, hands tugging at his shirt, how his hands fell to your ass and squeezed, you squeaking into his mouth. How he lifted one of your legs and hooked it around his hips, allowing your centers to meet, and he shakily exhaled. It was consuming, kissing Harry, trying to keep track of what he was doing and then finally giving up and just losing yourself in him, in the way he touched you and made your entire body erupt in flames.

“Jump,” he said, pulling at your other thigh and you did so immediately, not even wasting a beat before hooking your ankles around his hips and letting him grind into you.

You let out a wanton moan at the feeling of the friction from your jeans meeting and rubbing into you, and from the way his breath caught, you knew he was just as affected as you were. His necklace swung on its chain as he pulled away and sucked a line of kisses down your neck, just as you had thought about doing to him earlier. When he prodded at your pulse point with his teeth and then licked over the spot you tugged on his hair, his name a broken whimper on your lips.

Hands met skin, both of you needing more and more. You pushed at his shirt, the predominantly unbuttoned garment falling easily from his shoulders and pooling at his elbows. The fresh skin served as an opportunity, and you took it, bending your head and licking across his collarbones, his head tipping back at the feeling. You sucked a mark onto the protruding bone, right over the wing of one of his swallows, and blew on it when you were done, Harry hissing above you.

From the way his fingers were digging into your jeans and you were panting in his hold, you knew that if you didn’t slow things down they were going to get out of hand—and quickly. So you lightly pushed at his shoulders, his gaze bouncing up to your eyes. “We should stop,” you mumbled, sucking in air finally. “Just—just sleep for now. Yeah?”

“‘m feeling more sober now,” he said, diving back into your neck, but you pulled on his hair, hauling him away.

“I had to literally help you walk to my car.”

He pouted at you. “That was a weak moment.”

But you shook your head at him, having none of it. “I want you at full capacity,” you told him, and his jaw dropped slightly, just enough to part his lips and you to press a finger into the space. His teeth tugged on your nail and finger pad, eyes on yours. “Want you fully sober so I can see what I’ve been waiting for.” Then you dropped your finger from his lips and ran it along his jawline, watching his eyes try to take in every one of your motions. “Plus, I want you to be able to remember my lingerie collection when I model it for you.”

When Harry groaned, it was deep and unrestrained, a demand from the most feral part of him. His head dropped to your chest and you pushed through his locks, his panting breath on your skin through your bodysuit. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep with that image running through my head.”

You rested your hands on his shoulders and pressed down on them so you could unhook your ankles and drop to the floor. “I think you’ll manage. Now, c’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

His fingers threaded through yours as you pulled him through your apartment, thankful Rhea was spending the night at her boyfriend’s so she wouldn’t be awoken from the giggles that left your mouth when Harry tripped over your shoes and the corner of your bookcase in the living room. You led him to your bedroom and left the door open, walking over to your dresser, kicking off your booties on your way. “Are you going to take this off?” His fingers graced over the top of your shoulder and you inhaled sharply.

“Yes.” You unhooked your hoop earrings and dropped them into your jewelry box. “Is that a problem?”

“Slightly,” he answered, fingers trailing down your arm. “I was hoping to do that myself.”

You turned around so he was facing you, eyes blown out in desire and cheeks flushed from the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed that night. “Then do it.”

His tongue darted out quickly, licking the center of his lips, and then he smiled at you, a boyish look of delight. “Is this my birthday gift?” Fingers brushed the top of your jeans and you nodded. “Goddamn, aren’t I lucky.” He popped the button and drew your zipper down, eyes fluttering to yours to make sure you were okay as he moved his hands to your hips, pushing the material down. “Holy fuck,” he suddenly breathed out and you glanced down.

The tattoo on your left hip had caught his attention, his palm resting just above where it started, his eyes trained on the ink on your skin. “What? You’ve got plenty of them.”

A chuckle left his mouth, and then he just shook his head. “You keep on surprising me.” His fingers crept down your skin, brushing against the chrysanthemums that covered from where your bodysuit sat on the rise of your hips to a bit down your thigh. “Does it mean anything?”

You nodded slowly. “It was my grandmother’s favorite flower.”

He must have noticed your word choice, because he quietly said, “I’m sorry,” before bending down and kissing over your tattoo. You inhaled sharply and watched as he tugged your jeans the rest of the way down your legs. Once you’d stepped out of them, he rose back to full height. “Can I take this thing off?” He asked, pulling softly on the hem of your bodysuit.

“Yes.”

“Snaps, hmm?” He ducked his head and you widened your legs enough for him to be able to tuck his hand between your legs. The pads of his fingers brushed over your clit and you couldn’t help the whimper that felt from your lips, the sound of it making Harry smile. “I can feel you.” He pressed lightly to your center through the two layers of material and you gripped the dresser you were leaning against.

You hadn’t been this wet, this in need of someone in such an all consuming way, in ages. Most people would have probably been embarrassed, but you just nodded, affirming his statement. Yes, you were wet, and yes it was all for him.

In a flourish, he gripped your bodysuit where the snaps laid and pulled, the sound of the fastenings coming undone cascading through your silent room. “Convenient,” he muttered to himself. Then, his hands pushed the mesh fabric up, revealing your black lace thong and the stretch of your bare stomach. “You know,” he said, squeezing at the curve of your torso, “I quite liked this thing. All that mesh. Could see your bra all night and it drove me fucking crazy just having to watch and not be able to touch you.”

When he pushed it above your breasts, revealing your lacy bralette, you lifted your arms and let him pull it over your head, the fabric falling to the ground. “Well, now you can,” you informed him.

The gaze he fixed you made your skin tingle. Without another beat, his hands were on your breasts, fingers brushing across your skin and then dipping into the material. With your breasts exposed, he whispered your name, forgotten on his tongue when he leaned in and fastened his lips to your nipple, the skin hardening immediately from the wetness on his tongue.

Curses left your mouth in a string, hands tugging on his hair as he prodded at your skin. He didn’t linger there though, seeming to be too focused on the greater task, because he lifted his head from your chest after a minute or so. And then his hands were at your back, unhooking your bralette and pulling it from your body, revealing your nearly fully naked body to him. His thumbs brushed over the solar system tattooed on your ribcage and you shuddered at the feeling.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbled, eyes taking you in. “Good god.”

The heat that rushed to your cheeks you couldn’t stop, so instead you distracted yourself with teasing him. “Take your shirt off.” His eyebrows raised, but he followed your directions, unbuttoning the final button and pulling the material off of his shoulders. As he was about to drop it to the ground you stopped him, taking the fabric in your hands. He watched in fascination as you pulled it over your shoulders, buttoned the middle two buttons, and then looked up at him. The shirt covered most of your ass, the tops of your thighs and your tattoo exposed.

“Like my shirt, huh?”

You nodded, and then decided it was your turn to touch his skin. Your hands criss-crossed across his exposed chest, brushing across the marks you had left and down, tracing his nipples until they pebbled, and then down to the laurels on his pelvis, barely peeking out from the top of his jeans. Then, you popped the button on his jeans, and when he didn’t stop you, you pushed them down his legs, struggling a bit with how tight they were, but succeeding finally. He was left in nothing but his briefs, a lion tattoo on his thigh exposed to your eyes and some small ink on his knees you thought was cute. You wondered how drunk he was when he did it, but decided not to ask.

“What happened to getting ready for bed?” He asked, hands running up and down your arms.

“We’re dressed for bed, aren’t we?” You turned around though, and led him out of your room and down the hall to where the bathroom was. “Go ahead—I’m going to get us some water. Use anything you want, except my toothbrush. There’s spares under the sink.”

You left him to his own devices and made your way through your apartment, grabbing two glasses and filling them with water, tucking a bottle of ibuprofen under your arm. He would need it in the morning. After leaving them on your bedside table, you headed for the bathroom where the door was open, Harry brushing his teeth at the sink. You slid in next to him and he moved to the side, allowing you to grab your face wash and splash water on your face, swiping the liquid in circles over your skin. After your moisturizer and eye cream, you started brushing your teeth, trying not to focus on how Harry was just leaning against the wall watching you.

“You good over there?” You asked, spitting into the sink and rinsing off your toothbrush before dropping it into the jar on the sink that held them.

He nodded. “This is going to sound weird,” he said, “but I feel…comfortable with you. Like this kind of shit,” he gestured to the bathroom, “I’ve never done this.”

“Brushed your teeth?”

“No,” he grumbled, grabbing for your hips. “I don’t usually get ready for bed when I spend the night with girls.”

You tried not to read into that statement, to wonder if you were some normal hookup or something more. Instead, you leaned in and pecked his lips, before tugging him out of the bathroom and towards your room. “Water’s on the table,” you told him, shutting the door behind you as you stepped inside. “And some ibuprofen, if you want it.”

He walked over to the opposite side of the bed and gulped down the water, tossing some of the medicine on his tongue and finishing off the water. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” you answered, and then pulled back the covers on your bed. You settled in between the sheets, and watched as Harry slid in beside you, obviously trying to gauge what you wanted. Once he was comfortable, you shuffled towards him, and without thinking too much into it, you rested your head on his chest. He immediately brought his arm around your body, holding you close to him. “Night,” you mumbled.

“Night, Y/N.” His voice was gravelly from exhaustion and alcohol, and you shut your eyes, falling asleep to the rise and fall of his chest.

You blinked, eyelids heavy from exhaustion, as you woke up. Sunlight was streaming in your curtains, which despite being blackout curtains, could do little to hold back at the sun in the morning. As you gathered your senses, you realized that the other side of your bed was empty. Picking up your head, you took inventory of the room—Harry’s boots on the floor, your clothes haphazardly tossed in your laundry basket, your phone charging on your bedside table and a full water glass sitting there.

You had finished yours last night, if you remembered correctly. But you shrugged and grabbed the water, chugging it as you unplugged your phone and checked the time. It was noon, which was the normal time you woke up after a shift, meaning you’d had somewhere between seven and eight hours of sleep. You could’ve slept for hours, but what was more urgent than a couple more hours of sleep was where Harry had run off to. Slowly you pulled yourself up, Harry’s shirt still adorning your body, and walked out of your room and into the hallway, where the smell of coffee hit your nose immediately.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Harry said when you walked into the open plan kitchen and living room. He was sitting at the bar that divided the room in half, a cup of coffee in his hand and a bottle of Pedialyte on the counter next to him. “I’m glad you found the water. I was getting pretty close to waking you up.”

“Thanks for that,” you said, raising the glass to him. You meandered past him into the kitchen, where you grabbed a coffee cup—this one was from a National Park you’d visited the summer before with your family—and filled it with coffee. “How long have you been up?”

“Two hours,” he answered. “I have a hard time sleeping after a big night out.”

“Pedialyte?” You asked, nodding to the bottle on the counter.

He grimaced and set down his cup. “Yeah. I went out and got it while you were asleep.”

Sun was streaming in the white curtains in the living room, casting the whole apartment in a bright mid-day glow. Harry was in just his jeans, no shirt, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he had worn out. “Did you wear that out?”

He glanced down at himself. “Yeah. Stole one of your big sweatshirts, too.”

“Did you now?” You shifted away from the counter, rounding the counter so you stood in front of him. “Which one?”

Green eyes followed your hand as it landed on his knee, moving it away from the other one to create space. When you took a step forward, you could hear his breath hitch and gave him a coy smile, your free hand sliding up his thigh. “Your green one. Said Obsession on it, or something—it was the only one that fit me.”

You chuckled softly. “It’s my ex’s.”

He huffed. “S’mine, now.”

“Is it now?” You asked, setting your cup on the counter next to Harry’s. “Planning on taking over for him?”

“As an ex?”

You shook your head, hands drifting up his torso. “As the guy who gets to wear my clothes.” You tried not to think about what those words meant, what you were asking him, because your mind was too wrapped up in him to even be thinking about your intent.

“Happily.” His hands finally landed on your waist, ring-clad fingers pressing into the skin covered by his shirt. “You know, you look good in this.” Fingers slipped under the material of his shirt, the white Styles on the chest stretching over your breast as you breathed.

“It’s black,” you told him, trying to keep your breathing even. “Everyone would look in it.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, kneading your sides. “Dunno about that.”

Both your hands and Harry’s explored each other’s skin, taking inventory of every rise and fall, roll of skin, the places that made each other gasp just a bit. It felt good, being this intimate with someone just like this, nothing but one another’s hands. “Then what’s so special about me wearing it?”

Palms cupped your breasts, squeezing delicately, his full forearms tucked underneath the fabric of his shirt. “That you’re the one in it,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave. “You, wearing my shirt, my last name on your chest.” He blew out a breath and you tweaked one of his nipples in reply. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re a dream.”

“How about we move this to my bedroom,” you said, slipping your hands up to his shoulders. “And I finally show you my lingerie collection?” You didn’t have to ask him twice. He was standing, your hand in his, and pulling you in the direction of your room immediately, a giggle leaving your lips at the sudden movement. “Somebody’s eager.”

“You’ve been talking about this lingerie for like twelve hours, love,” he said, shutting your door behind you. “I fuckin’ dreamed about it.”

You pulled out of his grasp and he fell down to your bed, where the sheets were twisted from sleep. His messy long hair and shirtless torso drew in your gaze, the way he leaned against your pillows, watching you. “Did you now?” You turned to your dresser and pulled out your top drawer, where your lingerie lived. “Close your eyes,” you told him, peeking back at where he laid.

Once he followed your instructions, grumbling about missing out on half the show, you pulled out your first item—a dark blue babydoll, lace appliqué covering the skirt and a bow nestled between the molded cups, a matching g-string that you slid over your hips. You fluffed your hair, suddenly wishing you had had the forethought to wash your face before you took on this endeavor.

“Open,” you told Harry, and turned in his direction.

“Holy fuck,” he said in one breath, sitting up immediately, as if a jolt of electricity had ripped through his body. “Is this a babydoll?”

“Good memory,” you replied, leaning against your dresser. You didn’t know what to do with your body other than just stand there and let his eyes trail over you. “Thoughts?”

“How would you feel about never wearing clothes again?” He asked, gnawing at his lip. “Just that.”

You blushed, and picked at the hem of it. “I think I might get cold.”

“I’ll give you a jacket.”

“How kind.” You turned around and when he whined, you turned just your head to him. “There’s more sets to show you, you know. Close those eyes, mister.” He did as you asked and you pulled off the lingerie, lovingly folding it back into your dresser. Your fingers ran over the lace in front of you, trying to decide which one of your, admittedly many, sets you wanted to show him next. Finally, you settled on a pink lace set that was essentially see-through. You’d never worn it before—it was one of your newer purchases, one you’d chosen after a successful test grade.

You pulled up the panties and hooked the bra behind your back, sliding the straps up your arms until they settled comfortably on the dip of your shoulders. Then, you turned and at the sight of Harry sitting there, patiently waiting, you decided to reward him a bit. You walked towards him, and when you reached his form, you settled your hands on his shoulders. The touch made his eyes flutter open, and the second he saw your body his eyes widened. “Wow,” was all he could say as he studied the material covering your skin.

“What do you think?” The more his eyes lingered on you, the more you loved how you burned under his gaze.

He licked his lips and reached out, thumbing across the top of the lace thong you wore. “How is this one even better?”

You tilted your head to the side and pressed closer to him, his palms falling down your sides as you stepped between his knees. “You’re the first person to see this one.”

“Really?” He seemed like a kid in a candy store after being told he could buy whatever he wanted. “I’m honored.” You pulled away from his grasp and he groaned, snatching your hips back between his hands. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got more to show you,” you informed him, pulling his hands off of you. “Patience, Styles.”

“Baby,” he rasped, the pet name falling from his mouth with ease, and you wondered if you would ever forget how it sounded. “I don’t know if I can survive much more.”

Your eyes fell to his pants, where you could see his hard-on, the outline of his dick straining against the tight denim. “Somebody’s desperate.”

“Tease,” he shot back. “I’m serious, though. I’ll let you finish later.”

You considered his proposal, but ended up pulling away. “One more. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

He groaned, but nodded, shutting his eyes obediently as you moved away from him. At your dresser, you found the set you were looking for, a dark green set. The bra was a balconette cut, lace appliqué covering the cups and running up the straps. You pulled on the suspender belt that matched, the straps dangling down your legs as you put on the thong next. Then, you grabbed a pair of black stockings and clipped them to the bottom of the suspenders. You fluffed your hair a bit and then turned back around.

“Open,” you instructed and when Harry’s eyes opened the moan that left his mouth ran down your spine like fire.

“Fuck.” The word was all he could say, his jaw literally dropping at the sight of you standing there. “Come here.” You didn’t move, though, wanting to hear him beg for you. This set had your confidence soaring through the roof, the combination of the material on your skin and Harry’s gaze making you want to see what you could make him do for you. “Please,” he finally said, shifting towards you.

So you walked over to him, slowly, keeping your shoulders back so the bra strained across your chest. When you reached him you placed a hand on his bare chest, pressing him slightly back so he rested on his hands, eyes staring up at you as you rested a knee on either side of his thighs, sitting down on his lap. “Worth the wait?”

His hands immediately moved, settling on your hips, sliding over the green lace. “You’re going to kill me,” he rasped, words rough in his throat. The sight of his pupils blown out in desire, chest rising and falling under your palm as he took in your body in this set made you grasp the back of his neck and pull his lips towards yours.

The two of you met in a blaze of fire, need flowing between you as he tugged you closer, your center brushing over the denim of his jeans. When you whimpered he suckled on your lip and you pulled at the roots of his hair, needing to hear him groan into your mouth. You wanted to hear every one of his sounds, to take inventory of him and store it away for later when he wasn’t right there in front of you. Lips met and parted, slotting together with ease as you both surged towards one another, begging for more.

His hands were covering every inch of you, pulling and grabbing and scratching at your skin, somehow bringing you closer and closer to him. When you began to rock against his jeans he let out a hiss, pulling your hips down onto his even more. Then his head dipped, nudging up your chin as he found your neck, nibbling and biting at your skin before licking along his marks, leaving you a whining mess in his lap. You were cradling his head, not wanting it to end, just to make him continue and continue and continue.

Now that you had him, you realized how long you had been waiting for this, even if you pretended like you weren’t. You had wanted him since the first time he made a bad joke and told you you looked beautiful, when he responded with a quick remark, countering your sass with plenty of his own. He met you tit for tat, ebbing and flowing with you like waves on a beach.

Your fingers wound around his cross necklace and tugged, just enough to get his lips to leave your skin and look up at you. “Tryin’ to get my attention?” He teased, squeezing at your waist, tight enough that he would probably leave marks but you didn’t mind. In fact, you looked forward to inspecting each inch of your body and seeing what he had left behind.

“Your jeans,” you mumbled. “I want them off.”

He chuckled lightly. “Now who’s the desperate one?”

“Shut up,” you said and he just smiled at you, his dimples poking out.

“Go on, then.” He watched as you slid back on his thighs and popped the button on his jeans, before getting up so you could pull them all the way off. Once they were on the ground, you moved towards him, but he stopped you. “Lay down for me, love,” he said, eyes trailing down your body as you stood in front of him.

You didn’t bother with sass, just falling to the twisted sheets and looking at him as he crawled towards you. His fingers found the clips of your suspenders, and you nodded at him, giving him silent permission to begin to undress you. When he released the stockings and began to pull them down, he kissed every inch of your revealed skin, creating a line down your calf that had your breath coming out in pants. “Harry,” you said, the last syllable of his name trailing off as he did the same thing to your other leg.

“Yes?” He asked, eyes popping up to you. His hair was a mess from your hands and you loved it—the sight of him with wide eyes and puffy dark pink lips, color in his cheeks and marks on his chest from your nails. When you didn’t respond, unable to even create words as he slipped his hands up your body and tugged down the suspender belt that sat at your waist, he said, “You’re going to have to speak up if you’ve got something to say, baby.”

That pet name. It was going to be the death of you and you had no idea why. Maybe because of the emotions swirling in your chest as you looked down at him, the way you wanted to simultaneously lie in his arms for hours and jump his bones, but also just hold his hand and hear him talk to you. Perhaps it was the fact that no one had ever called you that like he did, with desire and passion laced in the word, a tenderness and an edge to it that made you weak in the knees. “I need you,” you finally uttered.

“Do you now,” he responded, leaning forward on his knees so he hovered over you. “Can you be more specific?” Impatient, you grabbed his hand and pressed his fingers to your center, where you had soaked through your thong long ago. A low groan fell from his chest at the feeling of your wetness, and he peeked up at you from where he was touching you. “You’re soaked through,” he said in awe, brushing against your center and making your back arch up. “Fuck, Y/N. Is this for me? Did I get you like this?”

“Yes,” you drawled, pushing down onto his finger. Your mind was spinning, eyes fluttering shut and just losing yourself in the feeling of finally having contact where you needed him most. “Please,” you begged finally, rocking against him with your hips, chasing more.

Harry moved without pause, pulling your underwear down your legs and running his finger between your folds. The feeling of his touch on your warm flesh had you squirming, his name mixed in with curses as he rubbed softly in a circle. “That feel good?” He asked and you could feel his eyes traveling over your body even though your eyes were squeezed shut from the feeling. When he brushed his index finger against your hole which was dripping for him, you gasped, hips jutting down against him so the tip of his finger brushed inside of you. “God, you’re so wet,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

Then, he dipped a finger inside of you and you cried out, desperate and needy for him, unable to contain the sounds falling your lips as he built up a momentum, curling his finger inside of you and hitting your sweet spot. “Another,” you said, eyes finally opening so you could see him.

And the sight didn’t disappoint. His eyes were on your center, watching his finger move in and out of you, and you could see the outline of his bulge in his briefs, a small wet spot where his tip was. The fact that he was leaking while fingering you somehow just added to your pleasure. He added a second finger and pressed them deep inside of you, the cool metal of his rings brushing against your entrance and making you buck up against his fingers. You were squirming on the bed, unable to stay still because he was building an orgasm inside of you like no one else ever had. You could feel your belly tightening and your high was rising, sweat beads forming at the back of your neck.

When he rubbed on your front wall you let out a helpless cry. He had found the spot that made you go insane and you could tell he was happy, a smile stretching across his face. “I’m close,” you panted.

“What do you need?” His words were low and they just made you want him more.

“Your mouth.” The words were broken, but he seemed to understand because he shifted immediately, falling to his stomach between your legs and pulling you towards him. He decided to go harder, because he slammed his fingers into you at a brutal pace and matched it by licking at your nub, sucking and pulling at the sensitive skin. His tongue was sin against your skin, circling your clit and making you cry out. You dug your fingers into his hair and tugged at the strands, his name tumbling from your lips in a beg and a whine and a prayer all in one.

It didn’t take long before you were coming, the feeling rushing up without you even realizing, your back arching and hips bucking against his fingers and mouth. He lapped at you through it, eyes open and watching your orgasm, the shudder that left your mouth and how you fell into the mattress when you came down. When he pulled his fingers from you, you hissed, and he just kissed your pelvic bone, before sitting back on his heels and dipping his fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits that were covered in your juices.

“Get over here,” you demanded, hooking your foot around his hips and pulling him towards you.

He clamored over you, his lips finding yours once again, and you sighed into the kiss, pulling his mouth closer to you. You needed him like you had never needed anyone else, a feeling that took over your body and ran your mind. When his head dipped and he tugged on your earlobe you whined. “Can I have you,” he asked into your skin. “Please? I waited and I just…fuck, I can’t wait anymore.”

“Yes,” you told him, hands falling to his waist and pushing down his briefs. “Condoms are in my bedside table.”

His head bounced up at that and he reached over, wrenching open the drawer and searching blindly for a packet. When his fingers found one he moved back over you, the foil falling next to your head. Then, he pushed his briefs the rest of the way down his legs, letting the material fall to the floor with the rest of your clothes. Next was your bra, his hands moving to your back and deftly unhooking it, pulling the lace from your skin. “Beautiful,” he hummed, nestling his face between your breasts.

You chuckled, brushing his hair back. “I swear, boys and boobs,” you said.

“Hey,” he replied, picking up his head. “Don’t make me out to be some horny teenager.”

“Aren’t you?” You teased, picking up the condom between your fingers.

“No.” He took the packet and ripped it open with his teeth. “I’m twenty-one, baby.” Then, he rolled the condom down his length and you watched, absorbing his fully naked body for the first time. The cut of the muscles under his skin, the way his tattoos stretched across his torso, the full length of him that you decided you wanted in your mouth after.

He brushed his tip against your slit and you whined unabashedly, rocking towards him. “H,” you mumbled, “please.” That was all he needed, because without another pause he was pressing into you, bottoming out in one go. You let out an unrestrained moan, grappling at his shoulders as he sunk onto his elbows, his face hovering above yours. As he pulled out and pushed back in, a groan from his lips filling the space between you, you watched his face. The way his eyebrows pulled together and he bent his head, resting his forehead against your collarbone as he found his rhythm.

Once he did, it was heaven. His sweaty skin meeting yours as he drove into you at a brutal pace, but one that felt fucking incredible. Your ankles hooked around his hips and held him close inside of you, and you tugged on his necklace to pull his lips to yours, needing the softness of his tongue inside your mouth again. Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking on his strands when he pushed in particularly hard, and he groaned. He liked his hair being pulled, you discovered, and you decided to keep at it, threading your hands through his locks and pulling whenever he hit that spongy spot that made you see stars.

“Like that,” you rasped when he latched his lips to your neck, most definitely leaving a mark on your skin. “Yes, H, just like that. Fuck, you’re so deep.” Your words were a mess, just a stream of consciousness, but he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he slammed into you harder and pulled your leg higher, tugging it so that your foot rested over his shoulder and your hamstrings stretched. And when he pushed back in, you scrambled at his back, drawing harsh lines down his skin at the feeling of him reaching a new depth.

“Feel so good,” he mumbled, words broken as they spilled from his lips. “Y/N, god, so good.” His hands fisted in the sheets and you dug your nails into his shoulders when he swiveled his hips slightly, brushing every inch of you. When you squeezed him, his head tipped back, exposing his neck and you leaned up, ignoring the burn in your hamstring, and licked up his throat. He rasped your name as you pulled at the skin at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, making a mark of your own for him to enjoy later.

You fell back down and slipped your leg from its spot on his shoulder, and pulled him close to you, wanting to kiss him again. His lips seemed to be your new obsession, wanting nothing more than to be touching them constantly. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it, slotting your lips between his and kissing you fiercely as he pistoned in and out of you.

There were going to be bruises on your inner thighs, you were sure of it. You would be feeling the impact of his hips on your thighs for days, every time you sat down the muscles would ache and you would remember this—him moving in and out of you and panting in your ear, mumbling about how good you felt around him, how gorgeous you were, how much he loved fucking you. The prospect of feeling him for days was one you looked forward to.

When he gave a particularly deep thrust you moved up on the sheets, grabbing hold of his neck to hold yourself steady, and he moaned. You peeked down at him and as he moved back in, you asked, “Did you like that?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a broken confirmation. “Again, please.”

You’d never really done this before, so you decided to be careful with him, just a bit of pressure using your fingers. With four fingers on one side of his neck and your thumb on the other, halfway down his neck, you pressed down on his skin when he drove back into you and his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling. The heel of your palm rested on the hollow of his neck as your fingers squeezed on either side of his neck, watching in rapture as he fucked into you harder and leaned into your touch. Slowly, you loosened and then tightened your grip, changing it up to make sure he was getting enough air.

“Is that good?” You asked, trying to focus as he drove harshly into you, the sound of his hips slapping your skin filling the room. He bobbed his head and pressed into your palm, so you squeezed your fingers again, wanting to give him what he asked for.

“I’m close,” he said, voice husky.

“Me too,” you answered, kicking your heels higher around his waist and pressing up into him so he reached even deeper inside of you. You could feel that same high building inside of you, an intensity waiting on the brink as he pressed into you, your fingers pressing into his throat again and again.

Then he pulled away slightly, rising up so his arms were fully extended and you couldn’t quite choke him anymore, so your hand fell to his bicep, squeezing at his skin as he somehow moved both faster and deeper inside of you. His hands dug into the sheets and he drove in and out of you at a pace unmatched, your head falling back to the mattress. You were panting, eyes glued to the sight of his necklace swinging back and forth as he moved, the tension in his muscles and the sheen of sweat covering his skin. He was utterly, breathtakingly beautiful.

You couldn’t take it anymore, and reached down between you two, rubbing your fingers over your clit because you were just seconds from the edge and you needed it. Harry’s eyes took in the sight in awe, and his jaw dropped slightly, a curse ripping through his throat as you clenched around him and threw back your head, a deep moan falling through the air. You were squirming underneath him, Harry’s hands having to hold onto your torso to keep you steady as he thrusted into you, finishing himself off as you came, tightening around him. His name left your lips in a beg and he picked up your hand, bringing it back to his throat.

With a tight squeeze, your fingers wrapped around his throat like before, he bucked into you once more and then was practically growling as he emptied himself into the condom, body shaking against you. You unwrapped your hand from his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, before pulling him down to your chest, wanting him close as he pulled out of you. “Holy shit,” he mumbled into your shoulder, and you laughed softly.

“You ever had someone choke you before?” You asked, brushing your fingers up and down his spine as he settled.

“No,” he said, his lips puckering against your throat, light kisses to your skin. “Kind of liked it, though.”

“Kind of?” You squeezed his butt cheek in jest, and he squeaked against you, making you fully laugh, body rumbling against him. “You literally picked up my hand and put it there.”

He tucked his face deeper into your neck and you could tell he was embarrassed. “Okay fine, I really liked it.”

You hummed and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I did too. It was my first time doing that.”

“Yeah?” He picked up his head and propped it up on his palm, looking at you. “Was it okay?”

Pushing back the hair from his forehead, you nodded. “I thought it was really hot.”

A smile quirked up on his lips. “You mean you think I’m really hot.”

You whacked his shoulder and he feigned pain, jaw dropping slightly. “Stop fishing for compliments.” He rolled his eyes at you, but moved off of your body, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off the condom, tying the end and tossing it in the trash. Red marks covered his back from your nails and you ran your hand over them, watching as he shivered from the sensitivity. “If anyone sees your back they’re going to think you got fucking mauled by a bear.”

He turned his head and raised his eyebrow at you. “A bear, huh? I thought it was just this really hot girl.”

“Good to know you think I’m hot too.” He laughed and turned fully around, crawling back into bed with you.

The sheets were sweaty but you didn’t mind, you just wanted to be close to him. He laid down on his back and pulled you in, your leg draping over his and your breasts pushing up against his side. Your head rested on his shoulder and you let out a breath, relaxing into his hold.

After you’d been lying there for a few minutes, he cleared his throat and you looked up at him. “You know,” he said, “I don’t know if this was obvious, but I really like you.”

His ring-clad fingers trailed up your back, drawing circles against your skin. You considered his words, rolling them over in your head, and considered your own feelings. Where did you stand? You knew you liked him based on how you felt around him, this just constant desire to have his hands on you. The way you could joke around with him and the banter between you made you feel at ease, a kind of comfort with him that you hadn’t found with anyone else. He was gorgeous and kind and a bit of an idiot, but you found it endearing. You also, admittedly, loved how obsessed he was with you. “I like you too,” you replied, turning your head so you could fully look at him, your chin resting on his chest.

He looked down at you, sliding his forearm under his head. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, kissing the skin nearest to you. “Really like you, even.”

“Well thank god,” he said, pinching your skin slightly. “It would’ve been really awkward if you didn’t.”

“Why is that?”

He smiled at you. “I might’ve introduced myself as your boyfriend to your doorman.”

You rolled your eyes at him and pushed up, moving so you could hover over him fully, hands on either side of his head. “Does this mean I have to go to all of your formals and shit with you?”

“Obviously,” he replied, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “And my drinks at 260 are going to be free.” You huffed at his request for you to make all his drinks at the bar you worked at to be free, but Harry was having none of it. “Come on, baby, I’ll come to every one of your shifts.”

“Fine,” you answered, sliding your knees up his sides so you could sit squarely over the laurels on his pelvis. “But you have to bring me a snack.”

“Oh,” he said, quirking up his lips in a smirk, “baby I’m a full meal.” You swatted at his chest and he laughed, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm, before tugging you back into him. You fell into him with ease, unable to hold up any walls to him anymore. Somehow, he had busted through each one of them and you didn’t want to rebuild them. Having him wrapped up in your heart was perfectly fine with you, you thought to yourself when he kissed the top of your head and asked if you wanted pancakes.

Yeah, you decided, you could get used to this.

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free-pool-trash · 4 years

Text

happiness - peter maximoff

yay a new peter fic <3 i was feeling a little unmotivated for a few days (since our boy wasn’t in episode 8 at all :/) but im back 😎 although im back in school so i might be on and off for a while 😩✋🏻

!!!it’s not a songfic those lyrics at the start are just my inspo!!!

word count: 5k <3 😳

warnings: maybe swearing but i dont think so i cant remember, peter being sad, angst, but mostly fluff, WandaVision spoilers maybe??? I pretty much made up this plot so idk, endgame spoilers, reader was an avenger, kissing but it’s not graphic😽 probably some mistakes yk how it is

feedback is appreciated <3

tagging: @enchantedcruelsummer (should i make a peter maximoff taglist? let me know and I’ll do it)

masterlist

haunted by the look in my eyes that would’ve loved you for a lifetime

leave it all behind

& there is happiness

Loneliness had always been something that plagued him. That and a plethora of other negative emotions.

There wasn’t a day that went by where Peter Maximoff wasn’t made to feel like a loser. Admittedly, he’d never held himself to a high standard, he grew up thinking that he’d never fit in anywhere and eventually that thought mutated into a lifestyle as he began isolating himself from the world around him, either far too good or heartbreakingly not enough to be a part of that crowd.

He liked spending time with himself. Nobody else knew him the way he knew him, and still, he found nothing but an overwhelming hollow space where his deepest most important hopes, aspirations, dreams and self discoveries should have resided.

Peter had always put this feeling of exile down to the fact that he was a mutant, it was the most likely explanation, right?

It was only when he’d decided to join the X-Men that he finally came to the conclusion that maybe the rest of the world wasn’t the problem, nor was his mutation the problem, but that he himself was the problem. For even in a school full of people exactly like him he was still the same loser that he was in his mother’s basement.

And he was under no illusions that that was exactly what his teammates saw in him; nothing. No potential. Just a space holder to bring the numbers up.

Super speed was incredible. That’s how Peter acknowledged jobs well done, he praised his speed but never himself. He just saved Charles and Erik from a room full of armed guards? No that wasn’t him, that was simply his speed. He saved an entire mansion full of people from a potentially fatal explosion? Nothing special, Kurt probably could’ve done the same.

Forget all of the good deeds and saved lives because the bottom line of it all, to him at least, was that all he was good for was cheeky one liners and hopeless kleptomania.

His life took a turn for the worse when he found himself being mind controlled in an alternate universe. And even then, he was playing the part of someone that wasn’t him, the thought humbled him, reconnected him to his roots and reintroduced him to his life long philosophy that he’d never be anything more than a social pariah. Not even an alternate reality could accept him for who he was. There wasn’t a warm welcome and despite not knowing what was going on, the definition of “imposter” or the weirder, “recast”, still shot to kill.

He settled on the notion that he was an inter dimensional waste of space. At least in WestView he could be blissfully ignorant, let the real him be drowned mercilessly in favour of being an integral part of someone’s life- to feel important, even if it wasn’t real.

When WestView fell apart he was completely lost. In every sense of the word. In a new world with no way home and as it turned out, nobody was looking for him. Although he didn’t expect anyone to care, it still stung that nobody did. He always hoped that one day Erik would step up as a father figure for him, this; getting kidnapped and smuggled into a different dimension, seemed like the perfect moment for that epic father son moment, but it wouldn’t surprise Peter if his father has yet to notice his disappearance.

But then, seemingly out of nowhere, he came into contact with a beacon of hope. A guiding star that might possibly lead him to an existence consisting of something other than misery and self loathing.

It offered him a choice; return to being the self proclaimed loser he was known as or start fresh as someone new and mysterious, with first impressions yet to be made and conclusions about him yet to be drawn. Peter had known himself to be rash in the past, when it came to making decisions he had the tendency to act impulsively, never putting too much thought into how his decisions would affect his life in the long term. The choice before him now is no different, he knew exactly what he wanted going forward, however selfish the choice may have been, the second he realised it was an option his heart was set on it.

That previously mentioned beacon of hope arrived to him in the form of a girl, in the form of you. An ex-avenger and close friend of Wanda’s, you were hired by S.W.O.R.D to help them clean up the more ‘sensitive’ fallout that the fall of WestView brought about. Obviously, they were sticking you- the only other avenger with magik- on babysitting and rehabilitation rather than letting you go after your best friend who had gone completely off the rails. Having said that though, you didn’t want anyone else handling him.

You hadn’t watched WandaVision, nor were you even aware that any of it was going on until it had reached a boiling point and you got a call from Monica Rambeau, she’d begged you to come and wait on the edge of town while she went in and act as her eyes on the outside along with Jimmy Woo.

That’s where you stayed until the hex broke down.

As soon as the barrier came down the base you manned was overrun by an armada of terribly confused and distressed citizens, Monica and Wanda were not among them but in their places stumbled in Darcy and the man playing the role of Pietro.

Jimmy appointed himself to Darcy, who in all honesty seemed relatively unscathed by the situation while you made a beeline for the dirty blonde charading as your former, dead teammate.

Peter was, to put it simply, completely enthralled by you as soon as you’d strolled over to him and in the moment he’d put his almost magnetic attraction to you down to the fact that you were the first friendly face he’d seen upon breaking free of Agatha’s possession.

But one thing in particular struck him; you’d asked him his name. You hadn’t immediately assumed him to be some knock off Pietro, as everyone else had. You acknowledged that he had his own personal identity and despite how often he caught himself hating the person he was, he found that when it was torn away from him that he wanted it back. The simple question you posed gave him the opportunity to regain his identity.

“Peter. My name is Peter.” He answered you, almost unsure of himself and you found your interest in the man piqued even further.

He remembered with perfect clarity the way you’d offered him a grin, tilted your hand, extended your hand and said, “Well it’s nice to meet you, Peter. Come on, I’ll be your babysitter for the next while.” There was something about the way you’d laughed after saying the words and the slight, yet unmistakable, glint of mischief in your eyes that had him captivated from the get go.

With you came a whirlwind of new emotions. After only a few weeks of knowing you, Peter noticed he wasn’t as lonely as he had been back home. He didn’t hate himself half as much either, he wasn’t entirely free of self deprovative tendencies and maybe he never would be, but undoubtedly, he likes himself more in this world than he ever had in his last. He thanked you and your determination to make him “a functioning member of society” for that.

It didn’t feel belittling, the way you helped him. You hadn’t dragged him to your favourite mall every weekend just to taunt him about how he couldn’t stop himself from stealing something. Even the very first time, when he’d sped away from you and returned within a second adoring a pair of freshly stolen sunglasses. Your only reaction had been to laugh and casually place your hands on both sides of his face.

“At least remember to take the tag off next time, speedy.” You’d muttered, subtly pulling the tacky stickers off the arms of his shades. No, you weren’t dragging him sight seeing or forcing him to help you go clothes shopping because you thought he was a loser who needed reforming you were doing it because you were a true friend who wanted him to succeed.

The pair of you seemed like two peas in a pod. Which to be fair, you were. Peter Maximoff intrigued you in every sense of the word. He was new, quite literally other worldly, he was kind, he was funny, he was perfectly mischievous and completely wonderful.

What caught your eye the most was the way he held himself, as if he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own skin. It became apparent to you that he lacked confidence with the phrases he usually tacked onto the ends of his sentences. When you’d invite him to hang out in the beginning his response would always be something along the lines of, “Sure. If you want me to.” But the excitable puppy dog eyes told you that he was dying for someone to want him to tag along some place.

There was a certain understanding between you. You were both more than accustomed with the harrowing feeling of being alone and even though you’d never exactly voiced those thoughts with each other, you couldn’t deny that his was a spirit kindred to your own and he felt it too.

Since the Avengers has disbanded, one of your best friends, Natasha, was dead and your other best friend, Wanda, was gone completely off the rails and the people chasing her wouldn’t let you anywhere near her or even attempt to help pull her out of her darkness. You were being kept as a wildcard in case they needed her taken down. Peter was no stranger to the feeling of being cast aside and so he quickly responded to your frustrations, and in doing so, forced himself out of his comfort zone to be there for you. To his complete shock though, you’d been so appreciative of his efforts.

You never failed to thank him for the little things he did for you, always complimenting his mutation when he’d use it and giving him the recognition he never received at home. The friendship he formed with you was so… two sided, again, something he wasn’t accustomed to before. It didn’t involve him giving everything he had to offer and receiving nothing in return, you matched his energy meticulously and never left him hanging.

In a series of firsts, he didn’t wonder whether or not you genuinely liked him, never feeling the need or want to question it as you’d left him with no reason to doubt.

As he walked around the mall with you now, his mind brought his attention back to the question you’d asked him rather casually a few nights ago. You were both lounging on your couch, watching some ridiculous reality show (a favourite of yours and Peter’s) when you’d turned your head to look at him, a thoughtful look on your face. “Do you think when S.W.O.R.D figures the technology out to crack into other realities, you’ll go back to yours?”

The question had taken him aback for a second, in all honesty, he hadn’t thought about going home, not when he was with you at least and considering he’d become your roommate about three weeks after he got out of WestView, the thought of returning to his old life had barely crossed his mind.

Being an ex-Avenger you were fairly well off, you lived alone in a two bedroom apartment in New York that you’d bought to be closer to Stark tower. Peter had nowhere to go and aside from having a spare room to offer you’d also been sort of lost in the current of the busy city with everyone you once loved in the area either dead, on the run or busy elsewhere.

While the question hadn’t crossed Peter’s mind, it had crossed yours on several occasions. He’d been staying with you for six months and the moment you realised that he was becoming one of the most important people in your life, the thought of him leaving you too weighed on your mind but at the end of the day you wanted him to feel happy. He deserved to feel happy and if going back to his reality brought him that happiness then you’d support him.

“Dunno,” he’d replied, turning to face you, chucking a handful of popcorn at you when you looked incredulous at his response, “To be honest I haven’t really thought about it, m’way too busy babysitting you anyway.” He joked, effortlessly dodging the few pieces of popcorn you attempted to throw at him.

For the last few nights, the question haunted him, but it wasn’t just the question that was bothering him. You were at the forefront of his mind as he replayed the past six months of his life which also happened to be the best six months of his life. WestView put him through hell but coming out the other side of it and meeting you felt like heaven.

He weighed up the pros and cons of returning to his native timeline. The cons: he’d have to leave you behind, he’d go back to being the loser who nobody took seriously, his talents would be downplayed and disregarded and he’d inevitably end up revisiting his lifestyle of solitude. Then there was the pros: he’d get to reunite with his pac man machine. He couldn’t manage to think up anything else.

If he stayed he’d have everything he ever wanted and needed. You’d be there and he knew you always would be, besides he couldn’t leave you knowing that you needed him. If he left who would wake you up when you had night terrors about the catastrophe that your reality was still recovering from? There would be nobody there to comfort you when you woke up from the nightmares, reliving the deaths of Natasha, Tony or Vision and the experience of being snapped out of existence? If he wasn’t there to make you laugh when you were about to cry then who would be? In his heart of hearts he knew you had a huge support system at your disposal, he’d met most of them. Even though he was well aware that Sam visited you as often as he could, that Bucky wrote you letters on a monthly basis and sometimes tagged along with Sam on his visits, that Stephen Strange appeared in your apartment whenever the urge struck him, that the literal god of thunder invited you out for beer whenever he was visiting Earth, that the little spider-kid, also named Peter, swung by your apartment at least once a week to tell you all about school and his good deeds. Despite knowing all of this and knowing all of these people loved you dearly, Peter wanted to be your main source of support, he didn’t want to be someone who came and went, who’d love you then leave you. He wanted to be with you through anything and everything and the feeling that you’d love him for a lifetime had him satisfied with the decision he was about to make.

If leaving his old life meant he could stay here, with you, and experience happiness for more than a fleeting moment then he’d simply; leave it all behind.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me the other night.” He spoke through a mouthful of curly fries. You were sitting in the food court of the mall when he decided to let you in on his desire to stay with you indefinitely.

You raised your eyebrow, “You? Putting thought into an answer? Peter, I think I’m starting to become a bad influence on you.” You told him teasingly, taking a long sip of your drink as he rolled his eyes humorously.

“You’re a terrible influence which is exactly why I’ve decided to stay here and put you on the straight and narrow.” The glee you felt at his statement was undeniable, your eyes lit up and your lips curled upwards.

“You’re staying? Really staying?” Your smile was contagious, Peter’s face now painted with a wide grin as he nodded his head.

In a moment of weakness he frantically added, “Y’know only if you want me to though. If you don’t that’s completely cool.” He rushed through the words, feeling more embarrassed when the fond look on your face never faded.

“Of course I want you to stay. You mean a lot to me.” You reassured him, a gentle smile on your lips as you reached across the metal table, intertwining your fingers with his.

Peter squeezed your hand gratefully, holding it in his grasp securely and allowing his smile to return to his face, “I know. You mean a lot to me too.” It was somewhat of an understatement, he was starting to understand that you didn’t just mean a lot, but that you meant everything.

His resolution lifted a huge weight off your shoulders that you wouldn’t be losing yet another best friend. You were glad he’d be with you when everything blew over with Wanda, the two of them definitely had the potential to develop a beautiful sibling relationship and they both deserved that. Of course, Peter would never replace Pietro and having known them both it was obvious just how different the two men were, the only thing they had in common being their powers and last name. Still, he and Wanda would still be able to work on it. He didn’t hate her after WestView and you knew Wanda well enough to know that she was kind hearted and she’d be more than willing to give him a chance. When she eventually comes back to her senses, that it.

As the months went on, life with you and Peter seemed to only get better. You never stopped laughing, your nightmares died down and Peter had taken on a whole new lease of life. Yourself and Peter were the perfect example of meeting the right person at the right time, you balanced each other out and accentuated the other’s good qualities.

Peter could now say with complete confidence that he was happy and what’s more is that he was finally sure that he was making someone happy.

Up until nearly eleven months of living together your relationship had been purely platonic, save for the constant flirting but flirtation pretty much ran in yours and Peter’s blood. Peter wasn’t going to lie to himself, he’d fallen for you the second you’d peeled the security tags off his stolen sunglasses.

You, on the other hand, had been fighting with yourself because yes, you love Peter but you couldn’t have told him when there was the possibility he’d eventually leave and now so much time has passed and you’ve got such a good thing going you didn’t have it in you to ruin it.

However, all of that changed when your original Maximoff best friend came knocking on your door.

Wanda was on the run. She’d caused an amazing amount of chaos but Stephen Strange and S.W.O.R.D were hot on her trail and now she needed a place to lay low with the twins. She figured there was no place more reliable to go than to the always open arms of her best friend, who conveniently had a divinity for earth magik and could muster up a protective barrier without raising suspicions. And that’s exactly where she found herself; outside your door.

You’d been chasing Peter around the apartment when you heard the knock on the door. Peter was on the opposite end of the kitchen to you, using the bar as a shield from you. “You better get that.”

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you?” You glared as you spoke, it was his own fault really. What sort of idiot jumpscares a witch while she’s mid-meditation? He’d frightened you so badly you accidentally blasted a ball of your signature green energy and ruined your favourite couch throw pillow. When you were ready to pounce on the scared speedster the knocks sounded again, more frantic this time.

With one last glare towards Peter you stomped towards the door. Your anger melted away completely when you saw her. Her hood was up and she looked completely exhausted, two small hooded little boys by her side.

“Wanda…” You breathed out, relief flooding your system at the sight of her alive. She didn’t get a chance to speak before your arms were pulling her against you tightly, hugging her as if your life depended on it. Wanda returned in your embrace, allowing herself to relax for the first time in nearly a year, she sniffled against your shoulder, holding back tears as she realised how much she’d truly missed you.

Billy and Tommy watched in confusion as their mother cried into your shoulder. They didn’t know who you were, all their mother had told them was that they were going somewhere safe.

It was the yell of one of the boys that caused you and Wanda to separate, “Uncle P!” With that you felt a familiar rush of air across your leg but instead of Peter appearing one of the kids was gone.

You shared a perplexed look with Wanda, although your confusion was for different reasons.

“Hey hell raisers!” Peter responded, catching the mini speedster who all but threw himself at him barely regaining his balance before the other child had flung himself into the hug.

“Wanda? Those two… are they...?” You started, at a loss for words Wanda cut you off quietly, her tone as disbelieving as yours.

“My children? Yes. Is that…?” You nodded your head numbly, anticipating the end of her question.

“Your fake brother? Yeah.” Quickly, you realised you and a wanted woman catching up with the door wide open wasn’t ideal and you ushered Wanda inside, shutting the door when she walked in.

“Hey.” Peter greeted her simply, as if he hadn’t been used as a meat puppet in her altered reality. It wasn’t in his nature to hold any grudges.

“Hi?” Wanda replied, her voice still twinged with confusion.

“Peter, will you keep an eye on the kids for a bit? Wanda and I have some catching up to do.” You asked him with a nervous laugh, just thankful that Wanda was too tired to argue with your suggestion.

Peter ruffled the boys’ hair and gave you a grin, “Only if you stop trying to kill me.”

You rolled your eyes as you began to lead Wanda into your bedroom, “You’re on probation, jerk.” You called over your shoulder.

Once you were securely in your bedroom, the door locked and sitting comfortably you fixed Wanda with an amused look, “I’d ask you what’s new but I’m not sure I even wanna know.”

Wanda gave you a sad smile while she shook her head, “No, you probably don’t. I will tell you tomorrow, I don’t want to get into it tonight. I’m so tired.” She admitted, her voice overcome with sadness.

“I’ll pump up the air mattress and you and the boys can sleep in here for however long you need. I’d offer you the spare room but that’s where Peter’s been staying and I don’t think empty food containers are the kind of decor you’d be into.” Wanda nodded, squeezing your hand gratefully.

“So his name is Peter?” She asked, curious about the man Agatha had used to trick her in WestView.

You nodded in confirmation, “Yeah. Peter Maximoff, actually.”

Wanda’s brows came to a furrow at that, “Maximoff? So he’s a relation?”

“Yes and no. Peter is from a different reality but he’s still a Maximoff and he’s got super speed. So, and this is just my theory, while you’re not directly related he could still be your brother- if you wanted him to.” You explained, as gently as you could, not trying to push her too far but to nudge the idea in her direction.

Wanda, to your surprise, didn't seem to hate the suggestion, “What is he like?”

A genuine smile made it onto your face then, as you shot into your description of your roommate, “He’s caring, funny, a little bit of a kleptomaniac but he’s working on it. He’s understanding and moronically selfless, moronic in the sense that he doesn’t even realise he’s being selfless. Huge pain in the ass too.” Wanda had a soft smile on her face by the time you’d finished.

“You like him.” Was all she said and you let out a laugh in disbelief, standing up and opening the door.

“Go grab a shower. I’ll have Peter blow up the air mattress while I go introduce myself to my god sons.”

“I thought you’d at least wait until I actually asked you.” Wanda laughed as you walked out of the room.

Things moved fairly quickly after that. As promised you introduced yourself to Billy and Tommy as their god mother, which they seemed more than thrilled about and you assumed that excitement had to do with whatever description of you Peter had given them. Wanda and the twins were all cleaned and fed and had all but collapsed into bed, foregoing the air mattress and huddling together in your double bed instead.

“Where are you sleeping, mother Teresa?” Peter teased as he noticed your eyes drooping where you stood.

“On the couch probably. Or the air mattress.” You mumbled, cutting yourself off with a yawn.

Peter, unimpressed with your options, scoffed, “No way. Come on, you can bunk with me.”

Much like Wanda, you were too tired to argue and you let Peter pull you to his, surprisingly clean, room by the hand.

You both crawled into the bed, lying close together despite the amount of empty space on the mattress.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Your soft voice broke through the silence and Peter turned his head to look at you.

“About Wanda?” You nodded your head, watching him intently as he rolled onto his side, facing you more comfortably.

Peter shrugged lightly, “I’m feeling ok. Just glad the twins still see me as their cool uncle.” You let out a small laugh at his response.

“Wanda was asking about you. Seemed interested in getting to know the real you.” You informed him, your heartwarming as you watched a hopeful look fall across his face.

A lull settled over the room once again and Peter caught himself staring at you. His eyes drifted over every visible part of you, reminding him of most of the points on his pros list for staying in your universe; your eyes, your lashes, your nose, your lips, you.

“What’re you thinking about?” The sound of your tired voice pulled him out of his thoughts and ultimately pushed him to bite the bullet and tell you how he’s feeling. With you curled up beside him, in his bed, fighting sleep just to stay in his company for as long as you could; he knew there would be no better time.

“Just about how happy I am to be here with you.” He answered you honestly, the butterflies in both of your stomachs fluttering in sync at his words.

You trailed a hand under the duvet and onto the bedsheets between your bodies, feeling around until you found his hand and gently intertwined your fingers. “I’m happy you decided to stay.”

“What you’ve all gone through in this timeline sucks- don’t get me wrong-“ Peter started sincerely, scooting closer to you and dropping his head back down on the edge of your pillow, leaving the pair of you practically nose to nose as he went on.

“And I hate that Wanda had to go through so much… but I’m really glad that it led me to you.” Peter swore in that moment, right after the confession left his mouth, that he could die right now and be completely content knowing that you now knew how he felt.

His heart stopped, and he thought that maybe he was about to die, when you gave him the softest, sweetest smile he’d ever been on the receiving end of and whispered, “I feel the same.”

Time moved in slow motion as he felt you moving your intertwined hands towards your lips, your lips pressed gently against the back of Peter’s hand before you brought them to rest against your chest.

It was a fact to say that Peter Maximoff had never felt intimacy quite like this before. But, experiencing it now, with you, led him to wonder how he’d ever survived without it. He wasn’t sure whether it was natural to crave more, especially when the affection you were showing him was so gentle, but he didn’t care as he let the impulsive side of him take over.

Not sparing another word, Peter closed the small distance between your lips and his. His free hand cupped your jaw while yours wasted no time in getting tangled in his silver hair.

His lips moved softly and surprisingly slowly over yours and he savoured the feeling of your hand holding his while your other got lost in his hair, your body pressed up against him, the way your jaw moved against his palm as you reciprocated the movement of his lips and the taste of your lips, promising himself he’d never let the memory slip from his mind for as long as he lived.

With complete clarity, Peter could say he had felt true, genuine happiness and he had no doubt in his mind that there was absolutely nothing Charles, Hank, Scott or anyone else from his original timeline could say to make him leave this happiness behind. Because in the process of forgetting his old life, he couldn’t deny that he has undoubtedly found himself in the position of a man who had so much more to live for.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wandavision x reader #wandavision spoilers #x men x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #mcu #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader

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crispy-chan · 4 years

Text

Maze of Memories ch.1 | bang chan x reader (hunger games au)

➳ pairing: bang chan x f.reader (ft. felix)

➳ genre: hunger games au, action, fluff if you squint, angst

➳ warnings: infatuation, major and minor character death (in future chapters), angst, cursing

➳ summary: you're the unlucky reaped female tribute from district 9 with no fighting skills whatsoever. all you want is to enjoy your last few days of life before perishing in the arena, but you somehow manage to catch the eye of the volunteer from district 2…

➳ word count: 5.5k

➳ a/n: hello, welcome to my new series. I've been brainstorming for this during the weekend and finally managed to start writing the chapter today after online class. Please excuse any mistakes since I wrote and edited this all today. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated. Feel free to hmu about any questions or comments. Hope you enjoy <3

ps: listen to maze of memories (I got the inspo from this song)

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***

"District 9 is Panem's bread bowl, giving us the fertile harvest we need to keep rising as a nation. Its amber waves of grain are an inspiration to us all."

***

You sighed groggily as you threw your feet over your bed. It was past eight o'clock, way too early to be awake in your opinion. But it seems like the opinion of some peasant from a poorer district was never exactly important to the Capitol. Why else would they continue holding such a dreadful event like the Hunger Games. You could hear your parents prepping in the kitchen, your mom had definitely managed to pick a dress for you to wear today…

And you were right. It was a beautiful red sundress with a gold accent at the hem. It was actually too beautiful, in your opinion, for this horrid event you had to take part in. You carefully slipped it on and twirled in front of the mirror. Oh, how you wish you could wear it on a different occasion. You seriously doubted you could ever look at it again, let alone voluntarily put it on after the reaping.

You didn't however expect it to be the last time you'd be even stepping in your house.

You ate the soft steaming bun with butter for breakfast and bid your parents goodbye since they weren't even permitted in the same area during the reaping. Stepping out of the house, you joined the crowd of kids agonizingly walking to what could eventually become their death sentence.

Although you had already done this five times, it still didn't manage to ease your nerves. The only thing keeping you afloat every year was the prospect of getting closer to adulthood and thus escaping this terrifying period of life.

You begrudgingly quickened your pace, hoping to catch up with the mob of equally frightened teenagers but failed to notice the boy turning from around the corner without an apparent care in the world.

“Shit, sorry,” you rubbed your head as you slowly gazed up and met his eyes. “No worries,” he muttered, more so to himself, “I wasn't exactly looking where I was going.” His voice held a velvety deep quality, making you shudder in your spot. You would have never expected it from a boy with such a youthful face. He flashed you a soft smile, which made you notice the beautiful freckles littered across his face. He was truly breathtaking.

“Ehm, we should probably go, don't want to be late…”

You were broken from your trance and immediately nodded, hoping not to further embarrass yourself. You could feel your face heating up as the boy merely chuckled.

“Let's go,” you stammered, hoping to preserve at least a bit of your dignity.

The both of you briskly walked to the main square, where the event took place every year. You reached the spot from where only the same gender could continue so you bid each other goodbye.

“Good luck,” he murmured, holding your hand in his. You couldn't manage anything else than a simple “you too,” before you guys were forcefully separated by the peacekeepers. You stole a last glance at him, as he disappeared in the sea of other teenage boys.

You let them push you into the hoard of girls, blending in with the rest of them. In retrospect, you were nothing to them - they didn't care about the hardworking people of this district. They only cared about the fat paycheck they would receive at the end of every month for cooperating with the Capitol and blatantly ignoring human rights. You were absolutely disgusted by these people but knew better than to disobey them. You really didn't want to get publicly whipped by some lame-ass cowards who hid behind white suits that resembled plastic armor.

Just as the town clock struck twelve, the mayor of the district stepped up onto the podium and began his speech. He went through the history of Panem, the country that rose up from the ashes, and reminded everybody (not that anyone has forgotten) the reason why the games are held every year.

If it wasn't for lives being at stake, you would be bored out of your mind. You've already heard this speech multiple times and could probably say it in your sleep if required.

You snorted at the apparent giddiness of the mayor. It's not like he had to worry about his child. The boy turned eighteen last year and was free from this godforsaken curse. The chances of anyone wealthy being chosen were very slim too. The poorer families had their kids’ names in the big glass ball as many as thirty times, the tesserae consisting of a small supply of grain and oil being enough to tempt them and make their kids risk their necks.

After the lengthy speech, the Capitol provided escort (you recalled her name to be something along the lines of Flaverie, or was it Flamiere?) hopped up on stage and excitedly shouted: “Happy Hunger Games.”

As if this was some sort of holiday. Although you wouldn't put it past her to think like that - these Capitol airheads seemed to think the Hunger Games were a reason to celebrate. If only they lived in someone else's shoes for the reaping. Then they would understand the terror of this whole ordeal and maybe at least sympathize with the families affected instead of telling them that it's an honor to compete and they should be proud to watch their children being slaughtered for the entertainment of the rich.

She slowly dipped her hand inside the bowl, loving the attention she received, and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper.

“For the female tribute...” she unfolded the slip of paper at an agonizingly slow pace and read the name, almost enjoying the way everybody hung on her lips, “we have the lovely Y/n L/n, can we get an applause please.”

Your blood ran cold the moment you heard your name roll off her tongue. It felt like you were under hypnosis - you didn't even realize it but you were wordlessly walking up to the podium as everybody cleared the way for you, most likely relieved that they were spared this ticket to hell.

She gave you an awkward hug as she lifted your hand like you were some sort of hero and exclaimed loudly, “Y/n L/n, what a beautiful girl. Now I'm sure you're all excited for the male tribute accompanying her!”

You zoned out at her babbling as you roamed the square, trying to catch sight of your poor parents having to watch their only child being sentenced to death. Sure enough, you could see your mother weeping into the chest of your father, whose eyes were steadily watering.

You refocused your attention on the escort pulling out yet another slip of paper that would possibly fuck up another family.

“As for the male tribute,” she gushed as if this were a simple lottery, “we have Lee Felix.”

The name seemed somewhat familiar but you couldn't exactly pin it to a face. Your eyes flashed in recognition as the boy you ran into earlier today quietly walked up the steps.

The odds were definitely not in your favor today.

“Oh my, what a handsome young man,” she embraced him. “How old are you?”

“I'm turning eighteen in a few months,” he said gravely in that deep voice of his. Flaverie looked shocked for a moment before she quickly composed herself and smiled at the both of you.

“May the odds ever be in your favor,” she recited the infamous line and motioned at the peacekeepers to come and collect you.

You took the time to try and recompose yourself. It was a lot to take in obviously - the threat always loomed over your head but you never actually thought you'd be reaped. The possibility of having to kill was absolutely disgusting and you hoped you wouldn't have to resort to ending someone else’s life.

They shoved you and Felix each into a separate room where you waited for the couple minutes they would give you to bid your family farewell as the probability of one of you surviving was almost nonexistent. The careers almost always won, easily overpowering the malnourished children of the poorer districts. They also usually had the whole Capitol including the sponsors on their side.

You whipped your head up at the stomping you heard. Your mother and father ran into the room and practically tackled you as they pulled you into the possibly last hug you were gonna receive. You couldn't help but start weeping too, snuggling your face into the chest of your mother.

“I'm so sorry my baby,” she sobbed as she patted your head. Your father rubbing comforting circles on your back as tears rolled down his face.

“You have to promise us you will try your best to survive, ok?” she muttered.

“Forget about us and just focus on making it out,” your father declared but his voice horribly cracked at the end resulting in him bursting out in tears and joining the group hug.

After a few seconds of incoherent sobbing, the peacekeepers ripped you away from the comforting hold of your parents. You managed to whimper a goodbye before the doors slammed shut.

The last thing you were ever gonna tell them, you realized later.

As they say - no use crying over spilled milk. You weren't crying. You were practically wailing as you wiped your snotty nose into your sleeve.

I'm too young to die, you thought.

***

On the train, you met your mentor. He was a handsome man in his late twenties having won the games over a decade ago.

“I'm Min Yoongi,” he swiftly introduced himself. “I'll be your mentor for the games and I will walk you through the steps and try to ensure the victory of one of you.”

He had a lean build, maybe an inch taller than Felix, pale glowing skin, and a mop of silver unruly hair, probably dyed you noted. His nose was sharp and pointed, just like his jawline, and his catlike eyes contrasted with his ghostly skin. Overall he was quite good looking but you noticed how his eyes seemed lifeless. You almost snorted, of course they were lifeless. How could anybody in their right mind be all happy after going through the Hunger Games? He probably saw his district partner die, possibly even had to kill a few people himself to be standing here today.

***

“So tell me now, what are you guys capable of? Anything that could be useful in the arena?” Yoongi leaned further into the plush couch opposite to the one you and Felix were occupying.

He stared at the both of you, waiting to hear something he could work with and build a strategy.

“I'm a black belt in taekwondo and can use a knife,” Felix declared in that bottomless voice of his, “but I'm not that great with it, just some beginner stuff.”

Yoongi nodded in understanding before redirecting his intense gaze onto you.

“What about you Y/n?” he inquired.

“About that…” you muttered with a dejected sigh, “I'm not partially skilled in any fighting technique. I can probably recognize more plants than others and move quite fast since I don't exactly have much muscle mass,” you pointed to yourself, “but that's about it.”

“Not bad, not bad,” Yoongi said more so to himself and gave you something akin to a smile.

“I'd love to give you guys some time to get to know each other and relax but we're running out of it and every moment discussing and strategizing is crucial and could potentially save your ass in the arena.”

The both of you hummed in agreement and perked your ears, wanting to soak up anything your mentor could tell you. Unlike all the other people from your district, he had actually been through the Games and survived so if you were gonna listen to anyone, it would be him.

***

It was past dinner. The three of you had gone through many conversations from how to avoid the bloodbath to the importance of sponsorships. Yoongi couldn't stress enough, how the two of you should avoid the cornucopia.

“If you're swift enough, you can grab a small pack near you but don't you dare try to fight with the careers over the stuff. It's seriously not worth it.”

You could swear you saw pain flash in his eyes but it was gone before you could even think about it any further.

“After that, whether you managed to secure something or not...scram!”

You gulped and nodded along with Felix. You could tell Yoongi was really serious about this, maybe his district mate died during the initial bloodbath and he just wanted you guys to avoid that fate and not perish during the first minutes.

“Now, this will be completely up to you guys, but I’d definitely recommend you guys team up...at least for the first few days in the arena. You are obviously at a disadvantage here so teaming up could lower your chances of dying right away.”

He looked at the both of you, expecting some comments.

You nervously looked up from your spot in the armchair and stammered, “I would definitely not mind teaming up… but I'd understand if Felix wouldn't want to.”

Both you and Yoongi stared at the freckled boy, waiting for him to state his opinion on the matter. Hopefully, he wouldn't oppose it. The thought of teaming up with someone from your district would definitely provide some comfort to your already weak and deprived mind.

“I'd also be in favor of forming an alliance,” his deep voice rang through the compartment and you almost jumped with joy. You at least wouldn't be completely alone.

Yoongi smiled softly at the display. Although it pained him to know that one of you is most likely going to have to kill or watch someone else kill the other, these short-term alliances were a little confidence boost needed for the lonely kids who were here against their own will. It was nice to have someone watch their back during training and exchange skills and knowledge with. He hoped the enthusiasm would last you guys into the arena.

***

You knew you should be sleeping. You will need all the rest you can get for the upcoming days, but you just couldn't fall asleep. Many thoughts ran through your mind. Like how the hell were you even going to train with the other tributes? You were aware there were many younger ones, probably at a bigger disadvantage than you, but you couldn't help but worry.

Your biggest fear was definitely the careers. They were practically serial killers in-training trapped in teenager's bodies. You saw enough games to know that they mercilessly killed anyone who got in their way. Slaughtering children was definitely not a problem for them. You heard Flaverie chat with some staff about the volunteers of this year. A boy named Chris has definitely caught their attention as they gushed about him for twenty minutes straight.

“I heard everyone started screaming when he volunteered,” she screeched. “He is apparently the best fighter back in two. People are already betting on him to be the winner.”

The realization made you sick. Even your own escort was gushing about some career and she apparently thought he would emerge as the victor too. It's not like you expected to win the Games but it still felt like a stab in the heart. You quickly rushed to some unoccupied room where you could finally let go. You started sobbing, how was this fair? You never chose to be here. What did you do to deserve to be here? As far as you were concerned, you haven't done anything to warrant being slaughtered on live television.

Your crying was apparently not quiet enough as the door slowly creaked open. In the doorway stood a pajama-clad Felix. He looked over you curiously before taking brisk steps in your direction. Your eyes widened like diner plates and before you could say anything, he engulfed you in a warm hug. You were so shocked it momentarily stopped the waterfall of tears but after fully comprehending what he had done, a fresh wave of them rolled down your face.

“Shh, it's ok,” he murmured while rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back. It worked like a charm because after a few moments, your sobbing slowly subsided until you were only occasionally hiccuping.

When you finally stopped, you croaked out a weak ‘thank you’. Felix just smiled and sat down on the floor next to you. You sat for a while in the comforting silence before you managed to speak properly.

“I'm so sorry for that. This is so embarrassing - I completely understand if you don't want to be part-”

“Shhh. Who said that I don't want to be partners anymore? Don't worry, this is a completely normal reaction,” he comforted you.

“I think it would be best if we could support one another while we still can.”

You smiled at him softly. Being teammates with Felix was definitely one of the best things that could happen to you.

“I just heard that the district two volunteer already managed to knock off everyone's socks. They're already betting on him to be the winner.”

Felix nodded in understanding. “But that means he will definitely be a cocky bastard and will underestimate the rest of us,” he chuckled, pinching your still damp cheek.

“Ouch,” you laughed and swatted his hand away, finally feeling at ease. “I guess…”

You guys sat in a comfortable silence yet again, before you decided to confide in him, “you know what's the worst? The fact that I basically pity myself. I feel like we did nothing to deserve this. I haven't lived a full enough life… there are so many things I didn't get the chance to do,” you sighed angrily.

“What did you not get the chance to do?” Felix asked curiously with a raised brow.

“I really wanted to bake my parents a cake for their anniversary. And I've never been on a date,” you lamented, blushing at the last part.

“Seriously Y/n? We're possibly gonna die in a week and you are talking about never being on a date?” he chuckled, amused at your antics.

“Oh come on, I've never even been properly in love which is quite sad…I'm a romantic at heart, ok?”

Felix just burst out laughing and you managed to crack a small smile. This wasn't so bad after all. It was really nice to just let it all out and have someone comfort you. Felix was a really good person, you have deduced that much even after knowing him for barely twelve hours. If it counted for anything, you hoped he would end up winning - you knew he would help your family if they were in need.

***

The next morning, the both of you had woken up to the sun shining through the now drawn curtains. You yawned and looked around before you noticed what happened. You were laying on the carpeted floor next to Felix who was still asleep, softly snoring and a slightly amused Yoongi stood by the window. You blushed immediately at the compromising position you were in and were about to shake Felix and wake him but you didn't have to. A loud and cheery Flaverie burst through the door.

“Rise and shine my lovely tributes. Don't wanna be la-” she halted as she took in the scene in front of her. “Aaaah, how cute,” she beamed at you guys.

Felix was slowly coming to his senses, the drowsiness escaping him as soon as he realized what happened. Red stained his cheeks as the escort continued her rant about how adorable the two of you were.

“Right, get up you lovebugs,” Yoongi groaned, pulling the protesting woman out of the room and slamming the door shut.

You immediately looked away, utterly embarrassed at the whole situation.

“So, how did you sleep?” Felix teased except it came out as more of a rasp since his morning voice was even deeper than normal (imagine: wakey wakey). “Oh shut up,” you grumbled, still not looking at him.

“Turn around,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Nope,” you argued but were cut short as Felix scooped you up bridal style and headed to the door with a smirk.

“What the fu-” you spluttered but couldn't even finish your sentence as you took in his appearance. His bedhead looked absolutely adorable and made you momentarily forget he was carrying you to the breakfast carriage where all the people were gathered.

After overcoming that little brainfart you had, you quickly jumped out of his arms. He pouted at that but didn't make an effort to grab you again. You got to the table and sat down, purposely avoiding the eyes of two certain people.

***

After breakfast, the three of you continued from where you left off the day before.

“Sponsorships,” Yoongi repeated for the n-th time. “It sounds stupid but it's basically your best chance at survival. If you want to be sent the stuff you need in dire times, you're going to have to work for it.”

You and Felix both nodded, recognizing the importance of getting the people on your side.

“You have to suck up to them, please them, and make yourself memorable. If the people will root for you, you will have done about half the work.”

During the session, Flaverie popped in every once in a while to order some poor Avox to refill your drinks and make sure you had everything needed. Thank god nobody mentioned the incident from the morning.

“During training, focus also on some survival skills. Go over the plants, how to make shelters and fires etc. And when it comes to battle, try out some hand-to-hand combat, that shouldn't be a problem for you Felix, and some basic knife skills. Don't bother with any other weapons - you are more likely to come across some sort of knife or blade than a sword or ax.”

You leaned further into the fluffy couch, hoping to hide in the overly cozy blanket and never come out. You were too busy pitying yourself and Felix, you almost forgot that you had to train amongst all those kids tomorrow, some of them being literal killing machines.

“I would also suggest not to reveal all your skills. Show them that you aren't completely worthless but don't try to draw attention to yourself.”

You had to stop the groan that almost came out of your mouth. What Yoongi said could apply to Felix but you on the other hand had nothing to offer. You bleakly pursed your lips into a thin line and tried to not think about the assessment. This was going to be a ride.

***

It was around noon that you guys arrived at the Capitol. The both of you gawked at the grandness (if that's even a proper word) of the city. You hated to admit it but the scenery was truly breathtaking. The beautiful mountains peaked from behind the skyscrapers and ran around the city, almost as if shielding it from the districts. You scoffed at that, the Capitol people being so prissy they had to have a barrier around them, likely not wanting to have anything to do with the poorer parts of the nation.

You could see people on the platform fighting to get in front to catch a glimpse of some of the tributes. You snorted, what a bunch of cunts. To your right, Felix waved to the frenzied crowd and flashed a smile.

“What the hell are you doing?” you poked him in the ribs. You would never take him to be the one sucking up to them.

“Who knows?” he shrugged. “One of them may be rich.”

You let out a boisterous laugh, mentally agreeing with him. If you wanted to make it, you would have to swallow your pride and humor them.

You departed the train to a loud cheer from the Capitol citizens and were ushered to a sleek black van. It was going to take you to the quarters. There you were gonna be prepped for the chariot ride which you ultimately dreaded.

***

“Come on Y/n, let me finish this,” one of your stylists, Hortencia or something, ripped off yet another wax strip on your calf. You let out a loud scream - it hurt like a bitch. You would have thought that they would have some fancy laser technology or something to remove the hair but that wasn't the case. They used many more of the strips until they managed to remove all the hair on your body other than your hair and eyebrows of course. After that, they hushed your still naked form into the bathtub full of bubbles and proceed to wash the entirety of your body (hair too) before drying you off and smearing you in some body lotion. By the end of it, you smelled like you were marinated in some flower-scented perfume. (botanical garden™)

They put you into a silk bathrobe and sat you down in front of a vanity with a monstrous mirror lined with small lights. Hortencia worked on your face, applying various creams and serums while Lavender tried to presentably manicure your hands.

“I swear to god, teenagers these days,” she complained, “you've basically got no nails.”

You were really pissed off but were too tired to argue with her. It wasn't your fault you feared for your life and bit off your nails on the train because of the stress.

After she managed to do your poor excuse of nails into a somewhat acceptable manicure, she got up to consult your outfit with the third stylist, Alphonse.

“Look, I talked to the stylists of the boy and we agreed to do a more land-inspired natural look. It will go well with the theme of the district,” he added, pointing to one of the dresses. After what seemed like ages, she finally agreed under the circumstance that she would get to do your hair.

They shimmied you into your simple, yet beautiful dress, arranged all the necessary accessories and put you in front of the full-body mirror.

You gasped at your own reflection, barely recognizing yourself. You were dressed in a beautiful lengthy dress with a loose beige bodice and an emerald green skirt. They had applied lightly accented makeup that made your eyes pop and curled your hair into supple waves that sat under an emerald green beret. At first, you weren't sure how this exactly represented your district but didn't find yourself minding. You slipped on the laced sandals that Alphonso handed you, feeling grateful you didn't have to wear heels.

This was definitely an upgrade you thought. You remembered how the previous tributes from your district were dressed. It was always something covered with grains or wheat stems as the stylists didn't exactly understand that the costumes didn't have to be literally the product of your districts. The whole outfit was pleasing to the eye, and you deduced that it still managed to hint at the production of grain which was the main source district nine offered to the Capitol.

After a few minutes, they pushed you out of the dressing room where a stoic Yoongi awaited. He looked at you from head to toe before nodding, a slight smile appearing on his face.

“You look good,” he nodded and you thanked him gratefully. It took a while but soon after, Felix appeared from the dressing room neighboring yours. You had to control yourself so you wouldn't stare, he looked ethereal.

They dyed his hair a shimmering silver and trimmed it into a minimalist mullet. His eyes shined, with deep green eyeshadow giving them more depth. He wore a pair of beige woolen flowy pants that resembled slacks (but had a more chill vibe to them) and had an oversized green silk button-down that was partially tucked inside his pants at the front. The top few buttons were left undone revealing some of his smooth creamy chest. He had a single hoop earring in one of his ears and wore a thin chain around his neck.

But it looked like you weren't the only one trying not to stare. Felix looked just as shocked as you, as he took your whole appearance in.

“Wow…you look really pretty,” he commented, looking away slightly embarrassed. “You don't look that bad yourself,” you teased.

That made you look at the brighter side of things. Practically speaking, there weren't many things to be excited about so you had to cherish every moment. It was nice to feel beautiful for once so you just tried to think about that.

Yoongi ushered the both of you towards your awaiting chariot. Felix extended his arm and you gladly entwined it with yours. “Let's go,” he motioned to the carriage. You silently followed him, the nerves already getting to you.

He hopped on first, grabbing you by your waist, and literally threw you onboard the chariot.

“Felix!” you whisper-shouted at him, “I can walk up some steps on my own, thank you very much.”

He just laughed in reply at your cute wannabe-angry stunt and linked your hands yet again.

When the chariot finally emerged, the both of you plastered your best smiles and waved at all the people cheering you on. Your mouth started to ache by the time you finally arrived at the podium where the president would have his speech.

Finally, you thought. Your eyes honestly ached from all those people with overly colorful hairstyles and eccentric mismatched clothing. The citizens of the Capitol were filthy rich, couldn't they afford some actually nice clothes? They just looked like a bunch of clowns to you.

You could hear the anthem roaring through the speakers, and battled plugging your ears. You were surprised you could still hear anything when the anthem subsided and president Snow took his place behind the stand.

“Welcome to the Capitol! In a mere four days, you will be in the arena, fulfilling the tradition that has been here for decades, and competing in the Hunger Games. Every year, a boy and girl from each district are chosen to represent their homeland in an honoring fight for victory. Let this be a reminder, that the Capitol rules over Panem with an iron fist and will not permit any rebellion. And as always, may the odds ever be in your favor!”

A cheerful applause could be heard as the people in the stands shouted in support. You felt your stomach clench. This was disgusting. How dare he say it was an honor to be here. How dare he say it was an honor for you children to kill or be killed by other children and broadcast it on national television.

During the speech, you felt eyes boring into you but you couldn't exactly pinpoint the owner of those eyes. You looked around frantically, the gaze making you uncomfortable when Felix nudged you slightly in the ribs.

“Look over there,” he discretely pointed in the direction of the other chariots, “see that one that looks like a warrior?”

You nodded intently, immediately spotting the handsome boy who looked like some sort of god of war. He wore cuffed pants with combat boots and a sleeveless top with a string detail at the front which was neatly tucked at his waist. Over that he had a simple black and silver harness that tightened around the material of his shirt and made the outline of his toned abdomen visible. His dark brown hair was messily styled into a parted updo, revealing his forehead and a fake scar down his eye. A furry coat was thrown over his shoulders, making you wonder how he wasn't sweating already, it was scorching hot. The holster around hi waist held a few sharp daggers.

“He has been staring at you for the last ten minutes,” he whispers. You cower in your spot behind your district mate, not liking that some career has already noticed you.

“I'm pretty sure he's from district two,” Felix mumbles in your ear, “the one voted most likely to win this year.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Chris.

The tribute your escort couldn't get enough of. The one everybody was betting on this year.

And for some reason he was staring right at you, appreciatively glancing at you from head to toe like you were a piece of meat. This was exactly what you were trying to avoid, a career somehow separating you from the rest of the nameless tributes. This was, well...bizarre to say the least.

He smirked at your clearly flustered state, sending you a wink before finally turning around and facing the podium.

From next to you, Felix visibly frowned, not happy that one of the careers has pinpointed you among all the others.

This was going to be hard…

read chapter 2 >>

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